


Ties That Bind

by squirrel_loves_wings



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Angel Castiel (Supernatural), Bottom Dean, Canon-Typical Violence, Caring Castiel, Castiel/Dean Winchester First Kiss, Destiel Reverse Bang 2017, Falling In Love, Human Dean, Hurt Dean Winchester, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Magic-Users, Magician Castiel, Magician Dean, Mutual Pining, Natural magic, Pagan theology, Top Castiel, Virgin Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-13
Updated: 2017-05-13
Packaged: 2018-10-31 10:55:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 34,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10897887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/squirrel_loves_wings/pseuds/squirrel_loves_wings
Summary: His whole village loves the angels and uses magic to help their lives. But Dean knows better. He knows the angels aren’t their friends. The angels have stolen Sam and countless children before and after him to be slaves in their city in the mountains. Dean is determined to save his little brother and prove to his fellow villagers that the angels are untrustworthy. But are the things he’s believed his whole life true? When Dean is confronted with evidence that rocks his entire world, who will he believe and how will he make peace within his own heart?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to my submission for the Destiel Reverse Bang 2017! I was instantly taken with the beautiful art by [Aceriee](https://missaceriee.tumblr.com/post/160632232173/my-second-submission-for-destiel-reverse-bang) (you can see all the art there or [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10692135)) and it was a pleasure working with her. The further art she created is so beautiful and I feel honored at all the work she put in.
> 
> A note on the Enochian: Lololololol. I used an online translator and it probably doesn't make sense, so if you know any actual Enochian, pretend what they speak here is some regional dialect or something.
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

 

Dean laid the rabbits he'd caught on the kitchen table before pushing back his hood and removing his cloak. He shivered, startled by how cold the tiny cabin was and instantly felt annoyed. His father was almost certainly at the tavern and had let their main fire burn out, but when Dean turned to look at the fireplace, he saw that it still burned but had been enchanted to coolness. Dean scowled. It was a simple enchantment, one taught to every child, but he hated that his father had used magic in their house. All magic came from the angels and Dean hated them above all things.

But the only way to undo magic was with magic, so Dean reached into the Earth and pulled the power up. " _Loagaeth ovoars malprg olpirt_ ," he intoned and the fire rippled and flared as though a wind had blown over it. Suddenly, heat was coming off of the fire and it began to crackle as it began consuming the wood again.

Dean pulled off his gloves and tucked them into his belt and then held his hands close to the warmth for a moment, letting the stiffness ease from his joints. He'd been out in the cold for hours checking and resetting his traps and gathering what winter greens he could. He'd spent an especially cold hour breaking through the thin ice that had formed at the edge of the river to gather the abundant grass that grew beneath the surface. The skin of his hands was red and cracked and painful as he flexed his fingers, but he hardly noticed. His hands had been like this for over half his life and were likely to remain that way. There were charms that could smooth them again, heal the cracks and take away the pain, but he used magic only when he absolutely had to.

When he felt sufficiently thawed out, he spent a little time arranging the wood of the fire, pulling it tighter together to make the fire burn hotter and then turned his attention back to the kitchen. He took the bread he'd left to rise from the compartment to the side of the fireplace and slid it onto the hearth where it could bake slowly. Next he turned his attention to the rabbits, skinning and butchering them with the ease of long practice. He prepared the greens he'd gathered and made a trip to the root cellar for potatoes and carrots to add them to the pot. When he was done, he hung the pot on the swing arm of the fireplace and pushed it into place over the coals.

His back was aching and he wanted nothing more than to make the walk to the tavern and stretch out in one of the overstuffed chairs with a beer, but the rabbit skins needed to be attended to. His father needed a new pair of mittens and Dean needed new vambraces, so Dean cleaned the skins and then took them down to the root cellar and salted them. They would sit there until they were dried out and then he would tan them.

It was dark by the time he was done with everything and the stew and bread were done, but his father still wasn't home. He bit down on his irritation and instead pulled his cloak back on. It was nearing the fourth anniversary of them losing Sam. That was the reason Dean had spent all day in the forest, keeping his mind and body occupied. His father dealt with the loss by drinking.

Dean moved the bread and pulled the stew from the direct heat before he left their cabin to drag his father home from the tavern. No doubt he'd be maudlin and belligerent. Dean was used to it, but it still hurt every time his father drunkenly slurred that he wished the angels had taken him rather than Sam. He kept his head down, hood up, as he walked, lost in his dark thoughts, but the excited shriek of children running past him made him look up. It was late for kids so young to be out. Dean grabbed the arm of the next youth that streaked past him. 

"What's going on?"

The boy shot him an excited look and shook off Dean's hand. "Angels have come down!"

Dean halted abruptly, his cloak swirling around his legs, and calmed the hatred in his heart. This was an opportunity and he meant to take it. After taking a steadying breath he continued after the excited kids. He found them huddled around Ellen's cabin and bristled. He didn't like the angels so close to anyone he considered family and he moved closer so he could look into the window. 

There was a trio, of course. They never came alone or in pairs. Always three. And he recognized this bunch. A dark haired female, a blond male, and a dark haired male. The dark haired male was kneeling by Ellen where she sat swathed in blankets by the fire. Dean knew she had been suffering with some lung ailment for a while, but he'd thought the healer's treatments and simple magic charms had been working. That she felt so bad as to call on the angels disturbed him a great deal. He had half a mind to barge into her cabin and warn the angels away, but he needed to stay unobtrusive, unnoticed by the trio, so he simply watched, rage simmering in his veins.

The dark haired male said something to Ellen that made her smile. She nodded and said something back. The angel tilted his head and reached up to gently brush her hair off her forehead. It took everything in Dean to keep him rooted to the spot and he had to actually close his eyes when the angel moved his hand from her face to her chest. Rationally he knew that the angel wouldn't kill her, not in front of all these witnesses, but these were the same beings that had stolen his little brother, had forced him into slavery to pay for services such as these.

When he opened his eyes again, the blue white glow under the angel's hand was just fading. Ellen's eyes were closed, and when the angel lifted his hand away, he saw her chest lift in a huge, deep breath - the kind she hadn't been able to manage in nearly a year - and she opened her eyes to smile hugely at the angel. She said something and the angel inclined his head, a smile tugging at his lips. He responded and then helped Ellen to her feet. She looked strong again, not wobbling and gasping for breath and Dean turned his gaze to the angels. How could they do such goodness and still steal away their children as payment?

 _We don't really mean anything to them_ , his father's voice rang in his head. _They help occasionally so we stay like sheep. Too afraid to say anything to them about our kids and pathetically grateful that they don't take more._

Dean stepped away from the cabin and into the shadows as the angels emerged. He watched as the children shared excited whispers over the visitors. The one who had healed Ellen smiled bemusedly down at them and occasionally patted one on the head tentatively. The other male dug into the pocket of his cloak and drew out little candies to give to the children as they passed. The female passed through them coolly, as though she didn't even see them.

Once free of the gaggle they strode across the village and stopped, to Dean's chagrin, at his grandfather's cabin. Henry opened his door and smiled broadly at his visitors before letting them in. Dean skulked in the shadows, waiting for the angels to emerge. He couldn't lose them. He was so close to knowing the whole incantation.

He crouched down and drew his cloak tightly around him against the cold. He didn't understand why his grandfather was friends with the beings that had taken his youngest grandson. He knew that Henry didn't believe what John said, had told Dean that Sam had chosen to go with the angels. But that was impossible. Besides, if he'd gone willingly, why hadn't he come back to visit or at least send word?

Dean's father had taught him everything he knew - how to hunt, how to fight, to work leather and sharpen a blade. His father had also taught him that the angels were not friends to humans. He told Dean, over and over, how the angels had refused to come when Mary was dying because John had dared to speak against them to the people of their village. They had let her die as a lesson to John. Henry was John's father, not Mary's. Maybe that's why he didn't want to believe what the angels were. Maybe Henry had convinced himself that Sam really had wanted to go in order to protect himself, both from the wrath of the angels as well as the pain of losing his grandson. 

It disgusted and saddened Dean to think that of his grandfather, that he was just as afraid and cowed by the angels as the rest of the village. He loved his grandfather, but he hated that he refused to see what the angels were, that he smiled at them and invited them into his home. Dean glowered at the door of Henry's cabin, hoping that after he got Sam back, after everyone heard the truth from one who'd been taken, they would see the angels for what they were and rise up against them.

Dean waited for a long time until the angels finally emerged from Henry's cabin. They exchanged a few more words. Dean could hear the familiar timber of Henry's voice and the deeper voice of the dark haired male, but couldn't make out any words. He saw them embrace and repressed a shudder of revulsion. He couldn't wait to break his grandfather - and the entire village - from the grip of these creatures.

The angels made one more stop at one of the merchants. Dean was surprised to see the light shining in Rufus' shop window, since they were past the second watch bell and Rufus was an irascible old fuck. But the angels went in and made their transactions and eventually emerged with several packages. Speaking quietly among themselves, they left the village, and followed the path that would take them to the gate.

Dean followed as closely as he dared, wanting to verify the first part of the incantation and then to get the few last precious words he needed to open the gate himself. His heart was pounding in his chest, both from how close he was daring to follow and with the thought that he would soon be able to open the gate on his own. Soon he'd get his brother back.

The conversation between the angels had ebbed, and Dean was so caught up in his fear and excitement that he didn't immediately notice that the angel bringing up the rear had stopped.

" _Saisch_ ," the dark haired male said, calling out to his companions, and Dean dove as silently as he could off the trail. The female responded, sounding irritated, but Dean was trying too hard to control his breathing to pay attention to what she was saying. He closed his eyes and drew his sword from its scabbard. It would likely do nothing to protect him if the angels found him, but its familiar weight in his hands steadied him.

Dean held his breath as the angels spoke quietly, but what made his heart leap in his chest was the sound of footfalls coming back down the path. His eyes snapped open as he readied himself to fight.

" _Castiel_ ," the female called. " _Niiso_."

The steps halted. " _Ol bolape_..." the angel, Castiel, started and then stopped. There was a long pause before the footsteps started back the other way as he called something else to the other two and Dean breathed a silent sigh of relief.

He waited until the voices faded almost completely to begin following again, his anxiety at being discovered nearly paralyzing him. But he forced himself to move forward for Sam. He had to save his brother.

The female angel had already begun the incantation to open the gate and Dean swore under his breath, dropping his sword and going to his knees in the loam, digging through his waist pouch for the slip of paper that had what he already knew of the incantation written on it. He listened carefully to her words, catching where she was and mouthing along with her. He finally fumbled his stylus out of his pouch and flattened the paper on his thigh. The angel was getting close to the end of the incantation and he had to get the last few words. He _had_ to. Sam had been enslaved for too long, Dean had let him rot there for _years_...

He realized he was letting his guilt distract him from the very thing that would allow him to get his brother back and forced himself to focus on what the angel was saying. His eyes followed the words he'd already written as she spoke and then the words ran out and he started writing, straining to listen and transcribe correctly and then it was over and the gate swirled to life. Dean stared at it, awed despite himself as always, watching as it shimmered and enfolded the first angel as she walked through. The blonde angel went next and finally, after the briefest of hesitations, Castiel.

The gate spun closed after they were all gone and Dean leapt to his feet. He sheathed his sword as he ran back down the path to the village. He had it. He had the full incantation that would allow him to open the gate. He could get his brother back.

He ran through the village to his cabin. Sam would likely need travel clothing. A warm cloak at least, and boots. Food and drink. In his preoccupation with what he needed to gather, he didn't see the man leaving his cabin and ran directly into him.

"Hey now," Benny said, grabbing Dean's shoulders to steady him. "Where's the fire?"

Dean grinned and grabbed Benny's cloak. "I've got it."

"You've got…" Benny started, his brow creased in confusion, but then his eyebrows lifted in surprise. "The incantation?"

" _Yes_ ," he hissed and pounded a fist against Benny's chest. "From the trio that was here tonight. Now get out of the way." He shoved his friend aside and started into the cabin. "I've got to get some stuff together."

"You're going tonight?" Benny asked, following Dean back inside.

"You think I'm going to wait another day?" Dean pulled a bag he generally used for market off a hook. "He's been there almost four years, Ben. I've gotta…" As he turned, Dean saw the half eaten bowl of stew on the table and deflated a little. "You brought him home?"

"Yeah, tried to get some food into him, too. He ate a little bit. I dumped him into bed before he passed clean out, though."

Dean raked a hand through his hair. "Thank you. I was on my way to get him when I heard the angels had come down and I… I forgot about everything else."

"You know it's alright." Benny stepped closer and ran his hand down Dean's arm. "You know I've always got your back."

Dean bobbed his head in acknowledgement and reached out to clasp Benny's shoulder. "What would I do without you?"

"You'd hobble along, I figure," Benny joked, but then his face grew serious. "Let me come with you, Dean."

Dean took a step back and shook his head. "You know I can't."

"To hell with that!" Benny spat and Dean squared his shoulders.

"Even if I make it in, Benny, there's no guarantee I'm making it out."

"Even more reason to let me come with…"

"Benny," Dean plead. "I need to know he'll be okay if they… if I don't make it back."

Dean didn't need to explain who he was talking about. Benny's eyes flicked toward the door of John's bedroom before resettling on Dean. "Ellen will take care of him now that she's healed. You need me with you more than you need me here."

"No, Ben. No. If the…" Dean licked his lips and swallowed. His great fear, the one he hadn't let himself feel until now because he hadn't had the incantation, was that he'd be obliterated the moment he tried to step through because he wasn't an angel. "If it doesn't work, our people need you. I can't risk it."

"Dean," Benny started again but Dean interrupted him.

"You've never won this fight before, Benny, and you won't now." He turned and wrapped the leftover bread in a cloth before stuffing it into the sack. He paused as he started for his room and looked at Benny. "Stay. Watch over my father. Pray I return with Sam."

The struggle was clear in Benny's eyes, but finally he nodded. "Fine, you stubborn sonofabitch, I'll stay. But you'd better come back, alright?" His voice cracked slightly and Dean gave him a smile full of confidence he didn't completely feel.

"I will. Now go on. With luck I'll be back within a day."

He didn't wait to watch Benny go, just turned to his room to fold his extra cloak into the sack, followed by a pair of his boots. If Sam had continued to grow like he had been before he was taken, they'd be too small, but it was better than nothing.

Back in the kitchen, Dean took some jerky out of the larder and stuffed it in the sack before leaving the cabin without looking back. He ran the entire way back to the gate, his heart pounding in anticipation, and then stood there trying to catch his breath. As he looked at where the gate would manifest, he realized he was trembling all over. He never actually thought he'd make it here and, now that he was, all the ways he could fail assailed him. He'd never been more terrified in his life.

With shaking hands, he pulled the incantation from his waist pouch and licked his lips. He had been practicing Enochian with Pamela, the village's healer, but he hadn't dared tell her his plan. That his Enochian wouldn't be good enough was just another on his long list of fears. He licked his lips again and took a deep breath, trying to steady his hands. With one more fortifying breath he started the incantation.

Even though he avoided it as much as possible, Dean had used simple magic in the past, he knew how it felt, that pull in the center of his chest, but this was different. As Dean continued to speak the words, the pull in his chest intensified and expanded until Dean's body felt heavy and hot with it. The feeling grew until it felt like he was going to be crushed with the weight of the power, the words becoming nearly impossible to form. He didn't realize that tears were streaming down his face until they hit the paper in his hands, making the ink run.

Dean would have panicked but the words were glowing on the page, still clear even where the ink was smeared. But more than that, Dean could feel the words inside him, all around him. The very air shimmered with them and the paper fluttered from Dean's hands, the power of the words coalescing around him and forcing themselves from Dean's throat. Before him, was a small flash of blue white and the gate began to swirl to life.

The pain was enormous as the incantation went on and the gate grew, but Dean couldn't have stopped if he wanted to. The magic had ahold of him and he knew it wouldn't let go until the incantation was completed. Blood sprayed from Dean's lips as the last of the words forced their way out of him and the gate swirled completely to life, shining and glittering.

Abruptly, the magic left him and he collapsed to the ground, gasping and coughing, his entire body screaming with pain. He could feel the power of the gate, the pulsing otherness of it, and wanted nothing more than to back away, but he forced himself to crawl forward. Nausea joined the pain the closer he drew to the gate and he had to lie still for a moment, his cheek pressed to the cold ground as he tried to will away the need to vomit. As he lay there, the power of the gate started to wane.

"No," he moaned. "No."

Dean forced himself forward on hands and knees. He tried to get to his feet, but stumbled back to the ground. Pain was spiking through his head and chest and his stomach was threatening revolt but he didn't let himself stop. His only thought was of Sam as he drug himself toward the gate and then, finally, through.

His arms and legs went out from under him when he reached the other side and he collapsed to the cold ground, curling in on himself in agony. Going through had felt like being ground to paste and now he could only lie there, feeling like he was being shredded from the inside, his voice too hoarse to scream. The gate closed behind him, plunging him into complete darkness. He coughed and felt the blood coming up his throat, heard it splatter wetly to the ground. The trip through had been fatal. More blood sputtered from his mouth as he twisted against the pain deep inside his body. He wouldn't live much longer.

 _I'm sorry, Sam,_ he thought and felt fresh tears leak from his eyes.

He didn't hear the footsteps approaching him, only started when he felt fingers brush his temple.

"I wondered if you would come tonight." Dean recognized Castiel's voice. "You're lucky I heard you earlier or you would be dead very shortly. Rest now, brave, foolish human."

And Dean slipped into darkness.


	2. Chapter 2

The first thing Dean noticed as he swam back toward consciousness was the scent on the air. It was astringent but not unpleasantly so - fresh and comforting. The next, as he tried to open his eyes, was that he hurt all over. It felt like his body was on fire and he made a sound of distress.

"Wait a moment," a soft, female voice said. Dean turned his head toward it and immediately regretted it as pain lanced through his skull.

"Where…" he started and immediately stopped. His voice was scraped raw and it hurt to speak.

"Shh, Dean. You're not completely healed from your trip through the gate." A warm hand slipped behind his head and lifted him slightly before a cup was pressed to his lips. Dean swallowed gratefully, the warmth of the liquid soothing his raw throat. He heard the cup set aside and then the woman resettled the covers around him.

"Rest for a moment and I will go get Castiel."

Dean started as he finally remembered where he was. The city of the angels. He tried to open his eyes again, and had a moment of panic when he realized they _were_ open, he just couldn't see anything. He rolled to his side, trying to push himself up to sitting, and touched his face. He could feel his eyelids moving under his fingers, but he couldn't see a thing.

"No." He pushed the covers off and tried to get out of the bed, but his joints felt like they were filled with ground glass and he collapsed back. He put a hand over his eyes and felt the wetness of unshed tears. "I can't be blind," he rasped.

"It is temporary."

Dean recognized Castiel's voice and tried again to sit up, but hands on his shoulders pressed him back down. Dean tried to struggle, but he was in too much pain and so very tired.

"Please, Dean, be still. Your trauma was… extensive. We've been trying to heal you but it's been… it's nothing we've ever dealt with. It's best if you rest, let your body do its own healing between what we can do for you. The tea will help you sleep."

Dean tried to struggle again, but his limbs were heavy and he was being dragged toward darkness again.

"You're safe here, Dean. We will do everything we can to heal you. Rest now."

:::::::

The next time Dean woke up, the same strange scent was in the air and his eyes worked. He blinked awake and looked up at the ceiling, which was an elaborate inlay of some sort of gathering. He stared at it blankly for a long time before everything came back to him. He was in the angels' city in the mountains and the angels had him. He had failed in saving Sam.

He heard a rustling sound and turned his head toward it. There was no pain. He saw Castiel let a curtain fall behind him as he entered the room. He was dressed as Dean had never seen an angel dressed before - a simple sleeveless shift and loose pants. No robes or stole; nothing was embroidered. No grandeur, Dean realized, and it was jarring. There was no pomp to him like this and, despite his arching wings, he looked normal.

He didn't look at Dean as he moved around the room, setting a kettle over the fire to boil, changing the incense in the brazier, tending a flowering plant in the corner of the room. He knelt in front of the fire again and began pulling out small containers from a cupboard that sat on the hearth. He set them aside and turned back to the tray and Dean closed his eyes because he suspected Castiel was going to turn toward him next.

There was the telltale scrape of the tray being put down and then fingers ghosted across Dean's forehead.

"You might as well open your eyes, I know you're awake." Dean could hear the humor in Castiel's voice. "Your aura changes when you're awake."

Dean opened his eyes and glared. Castiel smiled.

"Are you hungry? I have bread and fruit, rabbit rillette, some nuts."

"Where's Sam?" Dean's voice was still rough, but clearer than it had been the first time he'd awoken. He struggled to push himself up to sitting, his muscles quivering weakly.

Castiel didn't look surprised at Dean's question. He sat on the edge of the bed and looked toward the door. "He is in class."

Whatever answer Dean had been expecting, it wasn't that. "Class?"

Castiel nodded. "Yes. He is the most gifted student we've had in generations. His control of magic is sublime. If he can achieve his full potential, he will surpass some angels." Castiel sighed. "Whatever is in your genetics, whatever magic flows within you… It's likely the only thing that saved you when you passed through the gate."

"You kidnapped him," Dean growled, falling back on his old anger in the face of his confusion. "You stole him from us."

Castiel's gaze flicked over Dean then, around his head and over his shoulders, down to his chest. "You don't believe that; not really. You want to, though."

Dean didn't think, he just shoved Castiel off the bed and stumbled off after him, his legs wobbly. But he was able to grab the knife from the tray and loom over Castiel.

"Tell me where my brother is," he demanded, the knife shaking only minutely in his hand despite how weak he felt. Castiel's wings spread slightly as he shifted to stand and Dean took a menacing step forward. "Stay down and tell me where Sam is."

With a weary sigh Castiel flicked his fingers and the knife flew from Dean's hand. When Dean lunged, Castiel held up a hand, said, " _Ag_ ," and Dean froze in place.

Castiel stood from where he was sprawled on the floor and slowly approached Dean. "I don't want to fight you and I am not your enemy. But if you choose to make this a battle, you will not win, Dean. That I promise you." Castiel's eyes searched Dean's face for a moment before he spoke another word. Dean stumbled forward, his momentum having been trapped in the spell, and Castiel caught his shoulders.

"Shall we fight or shall I summon your brother?"

Dean glowered at the angel and shoved him away. "Let me see Sam."

Castiel inclined his head, though there was a wry smile pulling at his lips. "The only reason you haven't seen him sooner was your persistent unconsciousness." Castiel met Dean's eyes again. "Eat something and drink the tea. You're still not fully recovered from traversing the gate. I'll bring Sam."

Dean waited until the curtain fell behind Castiel to sag to the bed. All his muscles were trembling with the effort it had taken to stay standing. He hadn't fully appreciated how weak he was until now and he realized Castiel had been telling him the truth when he'd said the damage was extensive. That made him look at the tray Castiel had brought. Seeing the food made his stomach cramp painfully in hunger and he sulkily went looking for the knife he'd attacked Castiel with. When he found it, he wiped it on a cloth and then smeared a piece of bread generously with the rillette. He grudgingly acknowledged that it was delicious before loading up another piece of bread. He'd eaten his way through most everything on the tray before the curtain to his room was pulled back again.

"Hi, Dean," Sam said with a nervous smile as he stepped through.

Dean stood, unable to believe that he was seeing his little brother again. Sam was dressed in angel garb - a heavy robe and stole - though his stole was sky blue as opposed the the angels' red. He looked healthy, at least, not starved as Dean had feared.

"Are you going to say something?" Dean hadn't realized that he'd been silently taking in the sight of his brother for so long.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, Dean, I'm fine." He glanced at the tray and nodded. "Castiel wanted me to make sure you'd eaten. I'll prepare your tea."

Sam finally ventured further into the room and put the kettle that Castiel had set over the fire earlier onto the hearth before turning to mix herbs from the containers Castiel had set out. Dean watched him with a growing sense of unease. This wasn't his brother. Sam had been high spirited and clumsy, but then his Sam had barely been a teenager and the person who knelt before a fire making tea was undeniably a young man. Looking at him made Dean's heart ache.

Sam lifted the kettle and poured the steaming water into a mug. He stood gracefully from where he'd been kneeling and brought the tea over to Dean's bed. "Sit. I'm just going to take off my robe; it's hot in here."

Dean sat only because he didn't know what else to do. He barely recognized this person that bore the vestiges of Sam's childish face. He'd come here to rescue a boy but instead faced a man. He didn't know how to deal with that.

After he hung his robe, Sam came back and pulled a chair near the side of Dean's bed. He was wearing the same sort of sleeveless shift and linen pants that Castiel had been wearing, and Dean wondered briefly it was a fashion quirk of Castiel's that Sam imitated or something everyone here wore. Dean noticed that his arms had filled out, that they weren't the sticks of pubescence that Dean remembered. That made his stomach churn further. There was almost nothing recognizable of his brother in this man.

"Drink that," Sam said, indicating the cup Dean held in numb fingers. Dean took a reflexive sip and watched as Sam picked through the fruit left on the tray. Finally, he looked up at Dean, who was sitting still as a statue. "You must have questions."

"You want to be here," Dean said. It wasn't what he'd planned on saying but seeing the easy way Sam moved, wore the garments, it was the only thing that sprang to mind in the moment. That traitorous part of his mind that had always wondered if his father was delusional screamed _I told you so_. Here was the proof. "You've always wanted to be here."

He waited until Sam nodded and took a shuddering breath.

"You were never stolen." Sam's look confirmed that and Dean blinked, dropping his mug to the table harder than he'd intended, sloshing some of the liquid over the side. "You chose to come. You never said anything to me. You just left."

"I didn't want to, Dean, but dad didn't want me to come and so I had to hide everything."

Dean nodded, grief-stricken. "You knew I'd tell him if I found out you wanted to come here." He paused to take a breath. "They killed our mother, Sam."

"That's a lie, Dean. They came; they came to save her, but it was too late." Sam reached out to clasp Dean's hands, but Dean pulled away. "Dad didn't call them when he found her. A neighbor that heard John crying found them and called the angels. Had he called them immediately, there might have been time. But it was sudden, Dean. Even if she had called them herself there might not have been time." He scrubbed a hand back through his hair. "I know he told us it was their fault, but it wasn't."

"You don't know that," Dean snarled as he stood. He stalked away on shaking legs, but there was nowhere to go. "You chose to go with the people that might have killed our mother."

"I had talked with people in the village, Dean, people who knew our father and mother both. They all said that when the angels arrived they grieved for our mother."

" _Lies_ ," Dean hissed. "They're all afraid of angelic retribution."

"No they're not, Dean. The angels didn't let mom die and they didn't steal me. Our father is the liar."

Dean leaned back against the wall and noticed absently that it was warm, unlike normal stone. His head was spinning with what Sam had said. It went against everything Dean had grown up learning and believing to be true, but it made more sense than what his father had taught him, what he had blindly followed. He thought of all the letters he'd seen from parents whose children had been taken by the angels, letters about their progress and lives. John had said they were lies, forgeries to keep people happy. It had been easy for Dean to believe because they'd never received word from Sam, but now Dean realized the reason they'd never heard from him was much more simple and painful.

"You forgot us." 

The silence spun out so long that finally Dean looked over at his brother. Sam was flushed with embarrassment, looking at the floor.

"That's why you never wrote. You forgot us."

"I never forgot you."

Dean snorted. "Then we just weren't important enough for you to remember to write a letter to?" Sam kept silent and it just stoked Dean's rage. "Four years, Sam! You've been here for four years, having the fucking time of your life, apparently, while I've been stuck in the valley, taking care of dad, listening to him tell me over and over that the angels should have taken me because I was better slave material." Dean's voice cracked and he swallowed. "You could have written or visited or _something_."

"I can't visit."

"Then a gods damned letter, Sam!" Dean shouted.

"Dad would never have let you see it."

"Then write to grandpa Henry, or Ellen, or Bobby, or Rufus for fuck's sake. You didn't write anyone, Sam, because you never thought to, right? You were bored as hell in our village. You got here and…" Dean spread his arms to encompass the whole city of the angels. "You were too busy. Too… too happy." Dean sighed and sagged back against the wall again.

"I'm sorry," Sam said softly. "You're right, I am happy here, and I was unhappy in the valley, but I should have written you."

"Yeah." Dean sighed again and squeezed his eyes shut against the pain squeezing his chest. "Dad would have lied it away, anyhow," he said, trying to believe it.

The silence stretched out uncomfortably, neither of them willing to cross the gulf dividing them. Dean couldn't believe how much it hurt, realizing that all this time Sam had just never thought to write him. That while Dean had spent every single day thinking about him, he'd been so caught up in his life here that Dean hadn't even crossed his mind. Dean felt the pain like a chasm opening in his chest.

"Dean," Sam murmured. "You should come back to bed." Dean didn't answer, didn't even know what to say, so he remained silent. Sam finally came to where Dean leaned trembling against the wall. "Castiel told me about the shape you were in after you came through the gate." He pulled Dean off the wall and it wasn't until he pulled Dean's arm over his shoulders that Dean realized how tall Sam had gotten.

He pulled away from Sam's support, though, too angry, still. "I'm fine," he snapped, but stumbled as soon as he was free and Sam caught him again. 

"Sure you are." Dean fought against Sam's grip, but he was still weak. "Gods, you're still a stubborn son of a bitch. Just let me help you to bed, Dean."

Dean sagged abruptly and Sam struggled to hold him up. He coaxed Dean the few feet to the bed and sat him gently on the edge. Dean laid down and pulled the covers up, turning his back on Sam.

"I'm tired," Dean sighed. He couldn't look at Sam, couldn't think about how his brother had forgotten him so utterly. And he couldn't think about the lies his father had told him, about how he'd been so willing to believe them. His head hurt, his whole body was starting to ache again, and he just wanted to sleep.

"I'm here if you want to talk," Sam said softly, squeezing Dean's shoulder gently before getting up. Dean surreptitiously watched him put on his robe and secure it before he reached for his stole. Sam hesitated, rubbing the material between his fingers. "I know this is a lot for you to take in, but I want to be here. It's all I ever wanted. I'm sorry… I'm sorry I hurt you, Dean. That's not what I wanted. It's not…" Sam shook his head and put the stole around his neck, tucking it under the collar of his robe. "I came here because I couldn't learn everything I wanted in the valley. It wasn't about you."

Dean understood that, but at the same time, it stung. He rolled over so his back was to Sam again and listened to the rustle of fabric. Sam sighed. "You don't have to talk to me if you don't want, or even see me. You're in good hands with Castiel; he's a skilled healer and magic wielder. He'll make sure you get better and take you back to the village." Sam hesitated and Dean stayed silent. "Drink the tea, it will help you heal."

Dean heard the curtain in the doorway pushed aside and fall back in place after Sam left. He closed his eyes and tried to fight the tears that wanted to come. Everything he'd believed his whole life was a lie. His father had filled his head and heart with hate and Dean had let him, had nurtured that hate more after Sam was taken. _No_ , he corrected himself. _Left of his own free will._

The light coming through the window moved slowly up Dean's bed as he played the conversation with Sam over and over, sinking himself deeper into the hurt, castigating himself for buying into his father's lies so completely that Sam hadn't trusted him enough to tell him the truth before he left.

"You should be asleep." Castiel's deep voice startled Dean. He'd been so far into his own head that he hadn't heard the angel come in. He rolled onto his back and slowly pushed himself up to sitting, hating how weak he still felt.

"Got too much to think about to sleep," he said softly. He looked over at Castiel who was hanging his robe and stole on the hook. The space his hate had taken up for practically his whole life was suddenly empty, drained from him by Sam's words. He felt hollow, lost.

"The tea will help you sleep. You should drink it." Castiel sat on the edge of the bed and retrieved the mug from the table. He murmured a word and Dean saw steam suddenly rise from the surface.

"Thanks," Dean said, taking the now warm tea. He turned the mug in his hands and was startled when he recognized it. "This is Garth's work."

"Yes," Castiel said with a smile. "He made them for me several years ago. He's an excellent potter."

"You don't have potters here?"

Castiel chuckled. "Of course we do, but I enjoy Garth's work." Dean frowned down at his cup. That Castiel enjoyed something made by humans was yet another jarring confirmation that everything his father had told him was false. "Drink your tea, Dean. I'd like to spend a little time working on your healing this evening."

Dean took an obliging sip. He knew he'd had this tea before, but this was the first time he really tasted it. It was spicy and a little bitter. He liked it. Just like the food he'd eaten earlier, it was fresh and delicious and he hated that. He hated that the bed he had been lying in was soft and comfortable, the blankets warm and finely woven. And above all, he hated that Castiel was kind and healing him. He hated that he was such a mindless fool that he would simply take what his father said as ultimate truth, despite all the evidence around him.

He didn't realize tears had welled in his eyes until Castiel leaned forward and touched Dean's forearm. "What's wrong?"

Dean swiped at his eyes roughly and shook his head. "Nothing." He had a sudden urge to throw the mug across the room so he put it down on the bedside table instead and glared at Castiel. "Take me home."

The angel shook his head. "I can't. Not yet."

"So what? I'm… I'm a prisoner?" Castiel slanted him a look that said Dean knew better. Dean made a frustrated noise and swung his legs off the bed on the opposite side of Castiel and pushed himself to standing. He was trembling worse than he had been this morning, exhaustion and pain pulling at him. "Why are you helping me? Why are you…" His fists clenched and unclenched at his sides. Nothing made sense any more. Everything he'd believed to be true was a lie. How could his whole life be a lie?

"Dean." Castiel sounded worried. "Please sit, you're still weak."

Dean laughed bitterly as he walked to the fireplace. "Yeah, so weak I let my dad lead me around by the nose my whole life and _thanked_ him for it." He sat on the hearth, grateful for the warmth on his aching body, and dropped his head into his hands. "This whole time, I could have been in contact with Sam. I could have been a part of him growing up. I could have helped him come here, get away from dad. I could've…." he shut his mouth abruptly.

He wondered what his life would have been like if he'd believed Henry instead of John. What kind of man he'd be if he hadn't let himself be cozened by his father, if he hadn't pushed everyone around him away. Who would he be if he'd let himself feel something other than duty and hate and anger? He thought of all the times he'd turned down dinner with Henry or Ellen, unable to deal with them while they were so thoroughly deceived. What could his relationship with his grandfather have been? Henry was the finest leather worker in the village and had tried to get Dean to apprentice with him because he saw Dean's skill, but Dean had said no. Would the warmth and promise in Benny's eyes have ever come to something other than friendship if Dean had let it? So many experiences, so much companionship and love sacrificed on the altar of his hate for utterly no reason at all.

"I'm a fool."

"So are we all at times," Castiel said softly.

Dean look up, startled. He'd forgotten the angel was there and felt a sudden upwelling of shame. He was already ashamed of his physical weakness in front of this creature, but to expose his emotional weakness, too… It was humiliating.

"Why can't I go home?" he snapped, trying to hide how shattered he felt.

"Your injuries are still too extensive," Castiel said as he rose from the bed. "Even with my magic to protect you the energy of the gate would still be too much for your body and especially your soul." The sympathy in Castiel's eyes was too much and Dean stood abruptly to pace the width of the room.

"What the fuck does that mean?"

"Sit down and I'll tell you," Castiel cajoled and Dean snarled.

"I don't want to sit down. I'm not feeble."

"Right now you are, Dean," Castiel started and Dean rounded on him.

"I'm not weak!" he shouted at the top of his lungs. And though he locked his knees as he said it, he knew that Castiel could probably see the way his legs shook; the way he shook all over.

"In spirit, in will, no, you are not weak. You wouldn't have even been able to conjure the gate if you had anything less than iron will." Dean felt slightly mollified by that. "But that journey cost you a great deal, Dean. The damage you sustained went beyond the physical and the physical damage was critical. But your soul was weakened, nearly torn from you completely. It was that which worried us most and it is still not completely healed. So, _please_ Dean, come lay down. Your body cannot stand to be taxed right now."

Dean stared at Castiel in open mouthed shock. "My soul?"

Castiel gestured toward the bed and Dean made his wobbly way back to it, sank gratefully back into its comfort. Gods, he was so _tired_. 

Cas arranged the covers around him and then sat again on the edge, facing Dean. "The gate," he began, "was created thousands of years ago by my ancestors as an easier means of transportation. There used to be a path that ran all the way up through the mountains, but it took a very long time to traverse and was, at times, extremely treacherous. Most of us have only ever taken the gate when we wanted to leave Heaven."

"Heaven?" Dean interjected.

"The name of this place. The gate was designed for use by angels, and our physiology, especially our etheric physiology, differs greatly from humans'." There must have been some sort of look on Dean's because Castiel looked away and licked his lips, like he was trying to think of another way to put what he'd just said. "The gate is attuned to the way angels use magic," he started again. "It is attuned to the magic in our souls and your magic and my magic, your soul and my soul are not the same."

"So the gate didn't… know what to do with me?"

Castiel's lips quirked in a smile. "The gate has no sentience, but essentially, yes. When an angel goes through, the two merge seamlessly. When you went through, there was no merger. It was more like… like a potato through a grater." Dean winced. "The gate was damaged, too, we discovered later."

"Sorry," Dean mumbled, looking down at the soft blanket that covered his lap. In light of how monumentally wrong he'd been about the situation with Sam and the angels, he felt guilty for damaging their best way off of the mountains. "I don't know what I can do to pay you for that, and for healing me."

"Dean," Castiel said, sounding so affronted that Dean looked up. Castiel's brow was drawn down in a concerned frown. "You can't think that the damage to the gate is at all as important as the damage it did you. And you have no obligation to pay us. We have always come to the aid of humans in need."

 _Not always_ , a still angry part of Dean's mind whispered, but he pushed it away. He was too tired to deal with that right now.

"I don't know what to think right now, Castiel." He rubbed at his chest. There was an ache behind his breastbone, a distant echo of the pain he'd felt when he'd emerged from the gate, but still uncomfortable. He wondered how much was physical damage and how much from the heartache he was feeling.

Castiel took his mug from the side table and warmed it for him again. "This day has been too much for you. Drink this and rest. I will continue to heal you as you sleep."

"What?" Dean spluttered around his sip of tea.

"It's the same as we've been doing up to this point. What," he asked, his eyes lighting in the first real smile Dean had seen from him. "Do you think you can attribute all the progress you've made to the tea?"

Dean couldn't help but huff a laugh. Still. "Just seems a little creepy."

"If you would rather I not, then I will wait until you're awake." Castiel's hand smoothed down a wrinkle in the blankets and Dean was suddenly worried that getting healed while awake would be _way_ more awkward than while he was asleep.

"No, it's fine. Go ahead." He drained the rest of his tea to hide his awkward stammer and turned to set the cup down.

" _Prdzar olpirt_ ," Castiel murmured softly and the room's light dimmed considerably.

"What are you doing?"

"Readying the room for sleep. Lay back and get comfortable and I will begin."

"Oh, I… I thought you were… while I was asleep…" He was still having some trouble accepting the fact that he was going to willingly let and angel put his hands on him and heal him. He had sworn that he would never accept their help, but he knew Castiel was telling the truth when he said how hurt Dean was. And he now knew at least some of the extent of his father's lies, that the angels weren't barbaric users of humans. "I swore I would never let an angel heal me," he blurted. "I grew up believing… believing… lies." Oh, it was harder to get that word out than he'd thought it would be.

Castiel nodded as though he understood. "Sam has told us what he was taught before he came to us." Maybe he did understand, then. At least a little. "Do you wish for me to wait for you to fall asleep before I begin?"

"Yes," Dean breathed, relieved. "Thank you."

"Of course." Castiel inclined his head slightly and stood. "Pleasant dreams, Dean."

After Castiel left, Dean shifted himself down the bed and lay his head against the pillow. Many people in his village had thick, comfortable mattresses and soft pillows like this, but Dean and his father couldn't afford them. He'd never slept so luxuriously.

That made him wonder again what he would have become if he hadn't believed his father. Had he taken the apprenticeship with his grandfather he could have been working as a leatherworker, crafting necessities for people, earning money and respect rather than pity or scorn. Maybe he would have been able to afford something like this or one of Missouri's wonderfully warm goose down comforters.

For the first time that day, Dean's anger turned toward his father. But caught up in that anger too was shame and guilt. Shame because he had allowed himself to be duped by his father because it was easier than believing that Sam would just leave without saying a thing to him. Guilt because his father had given him everything.

Dean gasped out loud at the rage that thought brought.

 _He's given me_ nothing! _Nothing but lies and a lifetime of feeling unworthy. He takes from me, everything I have to give, demands yet more, and gives absolutely_ nothing _in return!_

He clutched the pillow to his face and sobbed, a lifetime of pain working its way free. He didn't know how he could feel so angry and so sad at the same time, but they washed away all thought and demanded he _feel_. Eventually the tears abated as the sedative effect of the tea and his own emotional and physical exhaustion drug him toward sleep. 

Some time later he was aware that someone was wiping his cheeks with a warm, wet cloth and brushing his hair back from his forehead. He moaned softly because it felt so nice. No one had ever taken care of him like that, not since his mother had died. 

"Shhh." It was a voiceless susurration that lulled him back toward sleep. The last thing he was aware of was a gentle weight settling on his chest and liquid warmth spreading through his body. 


	3. Chapter 3

The next morning, Dean woke alone for the first time he could remember since being here. Judging by the way the light slanted into the room, it was already late morning, so he threw back the covers and swung his feet to the floor. He was feeling better, he realized, the ache in his joints and in his chest less than what it had been yesterday. Then he dimly remembered having his face cleaned of dried tears; gentle touches and a calming, enfolding warmth. It must have been Castiel and Dean blushed with shame. The memory, as hazy as it was, made Dean feel cared for and that wasn't right.

He sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. He didn't know what to feel. Castiel obviously wanted Dean to be healed and Sam's affection for him was clear when he'd mentioned the angel, but Dean had been taught to hate Castiel's entire race since we was four. Could he just let that go? Could a habit so ingrained be eliminated in the space of a day?

Dean remembered the care with which Castiel had touched him, the gentleness of his magic as he'd begun to heal him and thought that yes, maybe it could. Just that thought, just his willingness to release the hatred, made an enormous weight he hadn't known he'd been carrying lift from his shoulders. He took a deep, shuddering breath, tears stinging his eyes, and vowed that he wouldn't let his father steal away any more of his life.

Feeling lighter than he could ever remember, Dean stood and looked around the room, really seeing it for the first time. The fireplace opposite the bed was large and surrounded by a gleaming white stone that Dean didn't recognize. The raised hearth had several assortments of jars and small hutches as well as several live plants. On the far side of the bed from the door, a desk sat between two wide windows. Dean wandered over that way, drawn by the magnificent inlay work of the desk, but as he drew close to the windows, the breath was stolen from his lungs.

He drew closer and looked out onto a landscape he could never have imagined. Part of Heaven was arrayed below his vantage, following the grade of the mountain. He'd seen the spires from the valley, but seeing them up close… They were gracefully curved, whatever material they were made of shimmering in the sunlight. He could see people passing by the windows in the towers of those other spires and wondered if anyone glanced up at him. High bridges connected some of the buildings, but further below, he could see avenues that were crowded with angels. And humans, he realized as he caught a glimpse of a wingless form.

Beyond Heaven continued the Laurentian mountain range, bare of trees and snow capped and easily the most magnificent sight Dean had ever beheld. In the late morning sun, the snow glittered and seemed lit from within. He stood there admiring it for a long while before he realized there was no glass on the window but he felt no cold air. He reached his hand out. When he felt the buzz of magic he reached forward a little farther. His fingers finally encountered a solid surface, though he couldn't see anything. There was a tickle under the skin of his fingertips that felt almost familiar even though it had no reason to. He drew back finally and clenched his hand. It hadn't hurt but it definitely felt strange.

Turning back to the room, Dean wandered toward the fireplace, thinking to stoke the fire, when he noticed that there was a tray of food on the bedside table. Bread, cheese, a cup of watered wine, and a now cold bowl of porridge. He went and lifted the tray and brought over to the hearth. He sat and nibbled absently at a piece of bread as he looked around for a poker, wood, anything to stoke the fire so he could warm his porridge, but there was nothing. Belatedly, it occurred to him that angels had no need of such tools, they could simply manipulate the fire with magic.

Dean put down his piece of bread and lifted the bowl of porridge, cradling it in both hands as he tried to recall the words Castiel had said to warm his tea the night before. He thought for a moment and then murmured, " _Lucifatianu_."

Before the word had even completely left his mouth, he dropped the bowl, doubling over as unbelievable pain sliced through his chest. He cried out, distantly aware that he had fallen to the floor and curled into himself. He coughed and tasted blood. And though he couldn't form a coherent thought, he knew he'd done something incredibly stupid.

He lay gasping on the floor, clutching his chest in pain, wondering how much damage he'd done to himself. One little word had done this to him. A simple warming spell made him feel like his organs were being crushed. A moan was forced out of him as another cramp of pain wracked him. Suddenly, a hand curled around his shoulder and warmth slowly suffused him.

"Cas… Castiel," he mumbled through numb lips, incredibly grateful as the pain began to ease slightly.

"Not Castiel, you idiot," a tenor voice said without venom. Dean tried to crane his neck to look and see who it was, but another hand to the side of his head kept him still. "Just lay there and let me do this. Healing's not really my thing; I've got to concentrate."

So Dean slumped to the floor and let the strange angel heal him. He couldn't believe that after everything Castiel had told him about how he'd been wounded by magic, he would attempt it. It was especially incredible given that he'd avoided using magic for most of his life. That he would begin to trust it when he was most vulnerable to its dangers struck him as especially poetic.

"You must be feeling better," the angel healing him said after Dean emitted a humorless chuckle. Dean didn't bother to answer. A few moments later, Castiel burst into the room.

"Dean!"

"He's okay, Castiel. Mostly."

Castiel knelt in Dean's line of sight and gently rolled him onto his back before laying a hand on Dean's chest. "What happened?"

Any answer was forestalled by Dean's grunt as all the air was pushed out of him. Castiel's magic was still gentle, but after the spring breeze that had been the other angel's, Castiel's was a maelstrom. Dean felt it in every part of his body, every bone, every hair, filling him up and washing away the pain and dysfunction in a rising, inexorable tide.

Castiel looked down at him. "Are you alright?" His eyes were bright with concern, and Dean was able to muster a feeble nod. Castiel's brow drew a little tighter. "What happened? No, don't answer yet. Let me finish this. Gabriel?"

The other angel - Gabriel - had taken his hands off Dean when Castiel had rolled him onto his back, but now he put his hand back on Dean's shoulder. He'd felt Gabriel's magic immediately when it had just been him, but now that Castiel was healing him, too, he couldn't discern Gabriel's influence at all. Castiel's magic was a team of draft horses while Gabriel's was a pony.

"Wow," Gabriel said. "That's some gratitude."

Dean's eyes snapped open and he saw Castiel kneeling over him, eyes closed, but one side of his mouth pulled up in an undeniable smirk. "Yet remarkably accurate." Was Castiel _teasing_ this other angel and could they hear his thoughts? "While we're connected like this, yes." Castiel opened his eyes and fixed Dean with a soft, unfocused gaze. "Now quiet yourself. This was a relatively minor rupture and almost fixed."

So Dean lay there and let them heal him. It wasn't as awkward as he'd feared, being healed while he was awake. Though that probably had a great deal to do with the fact that before they'd come, Dean had thought he might be dying again and now the pain had fully retreated, leaving him floating serenely in their magic.

"Are you feeling better?" Castiel asked as he removed his hand and sat back on his heels.

Dean blinked his eyes open and stared at the ceiling for a long moment before turning his gaze on Castiel. The angel looked rumpled - his hair an unkempt mess and his robe hanging askew - and concerned and Dean afforded him a small smile. "Yeah, much better."

Castiel sighed and reached to help Dean sit up. "There was magic lingering in you. Why would you use magic when I told you how fragile you were?"

Dean jerked his arm from Castiel's grip, annoyed at his word choice. "There's nothing around here to stoke the fire and I wanted to warm the porridge. I didn't think, I just…"

"I'll have you know," Gabriel cut in from behind Dean, "that my magic is incredibly powerful. More powerful than Castiel's in almost everything."

Dean looked over his shoulder and recognized one of the trio that had come to his village the night he'd gotten the entire incantation. He wasn't wearing his robes now, was dressed in a top that seemed made up of scraps from dozens of different fabrics. Looking at it gave Dean a headache, but somehow it went with his slightly impish features.

"Uh, that's… that's great. Good for you."

Gabriel's face contorted into a scowl that made all his features seem too close together. "You need a new breakfast, right?" Gabriel made a brushing motion with his hands and then dusted them off before blowing in the direction of the bowl Dean had dropped. The mess of porridge as well as the shards of broken bowl suddenly vanished.

By Dean's other shoulder, Castiel sighed. "Must you indulge in theatrics?"

Ignoring him, Gabriel arched a curious eyebrow at Dean. "It's closer to lunch than breakfast now. Perhaps you'd prefer a bowl of stew?" He twiddled his fingers and then snapped. The steaming bowl appearing on the hearth caught Dean's eye and he looked at it before looking back at a self-satisfied Gabriel.

"That's, uh, impressive." It _was_ impressive, Dean had never seen anyone make things appear or disappear like that, but he wasn't sure why this angel was so hell bent on Dean acknowledging his skill.

"Gabriel is a gifted conjurer among many other things," Castiel said sincerely, though Dean heard a placating tone in the words. "Thank you for replacing Dean's meal, brother."

"Not a problem. Enjoy," he said to Dean before chucking him on the shoulder. "Now, I need to get back to the geomancy problem I was working on before Castiel demanded I come check on you." He rose and gave a little salute that was so casual and so human that Dean couldn't help but stare after him as he left.

"Would you like me to help you back to bed?"

Castiel's voice startled him and he turned back to the other angel. "No. Gods no, I'm sick of being in bed." Dean leveraged himself off the floor and back onto the hearth, glad that Castiel didn't try to help him. Castiel remained kneeling on the floor, watching Dean as he awkwardly drug the spoon through the bowl of stew. "So, thanks. Again. For healing me."

"Of course, Dean. But since I didn't make it abundantly clear yesterday: you must steer clear of magic until you are fully healed. The damage from the warming spell was small because it's a small magic, but if Gabriel hadn't been able to get to you quickly, it would have echoed inside you, increasing the damage. If I hadn't known you were in danger and called to him it could have grown so great that it would finally shear the connection of your soul to your physical body."

"Yeah," Dean muttered, embarrassed at his own stupidity, but then something occurred to him. "How did you know I was in trouble?"

"Ah," Castiel said and looked down at where his hands were resting on his thighs. Dean got the distinct impression that now Castiel was the one feeling embarrassment. "I drew a charm into your aura, to alert me if you were in any sort of distress."

Dean had only known Castiel for a day, but in that time he'd always been utterly self-assured. Now he seemed almost… shy. "I'm guessing that's not normal?"

"Well, no…" Castiel looked up, but not at Dean, his gaze bouncing from place to place. It made Dean grin. Made him feel like Castiel was a normal person with insecurities and not an unknowable being of unimaginable power. "It's never been done, to my knowledge. It's never been necessary before but…"

Castiel trailed off and looked back down at his lap and Dean's grin grew wider. "You were worried about me."

"But your situation was still critical," Castiel snapped, looking up at Dean, finally. Dean wasn't deterred by his tone. In fact it just put him more at ease. He nodded and finally felt comfortable enough to take a bite of his stew.

"Sure, makes sense," he said as he chewed. Castiel looked slightly repulsed, but it made him forget his discomfort.

"And yes. I was worried about you. Your soul was nearly lost and I…" He looked down at his lap again. "I tethered it with my magic for a time, while your etheric body was healing, and that has never been attempted before. I didn't know how fragile it might be, so I drew the charm."

As Castiel spoke Dean grew more and more incredulous. He didn't know much about etheric physiology, but you didn't have to know much to know that if the soul came untethered from the body, it meant death. "You… was… was I dead?"

"Not in the strictest sense," Castiel said carefully. "Your soul had not completely broken free, but only the barest few threads held it in place by the time I got you here. I had to do something drastic or else you would die."

Dean tried to absorb that. He'd never considered that there were levels of saving someone's life - either you did or you didn't - but knowing what Castiel had done, the lengths to which he'd gone, somehow made it seem that he'd saved Dean's life even _more_ than Dean had originally thought.

"You're the one who found me?" Castiel nodded. "How'd you know I'd…"

"I heard you following us that evening."

"And are you…" Dean touched his solar plexus absently. "Is your magic still…"

"No," Castiel said gently, shaking his head. There was something in his expression that Dean couldn't quite read and he looked down before Dean could decode it. "Once your etheric body healed sufficiently, my magic faded."

"Oh."

Castiel looked up again, a small smile on his lips. "The last traces faded last night. It's a good thing, Dean. It means you're getting stronger."

"Yeah," Dean said. Castiel's strange wistfulness had infected him, but he shook it off. It was a good thing that Castiel's magic had faded from inside him, that his soul was held in place by Dean's own energy. "Definitely." Silence stretched out awkwardly until Dean finally looked back down at the stew, gone cold now. Dean chuckled. "I can't seem to eat or drink anything around here before it goes cold."

That seemed to break the strange tension between them and Castiel smiled before kneeling up and taking the bowl to warm its contents. "Luckily for you, I'm handy with magic."

Dean chuckled and took his stew back. "So Gabriel is your brother?"

Castiel rested back on his heels and shook his head. "Not in any true familial sense."

"I've seen you three in the village before. Or some other three. But you always come in a trio." Dean tried to keep the talking with his mouth full to a minimum for Castiel's sake, but now that he'd started eating, he realized he was starving.

"When we reach adulthood, we form such trios with others who have a different specialities in order to bind our magic together, make us stronger than we are alone."

Dean's eyebrows went up in surprise as he soaked a piece of bread in the stew. "You have specialties?"

"Of course," Castiel said, sounding amused. "Your grandfather is a leatherworker, Garth is a potter, Rufus is a glazier. Just as humans, we all have talents that are identified when we are young and we apprentice to more experienced angels. You seem surprised by this."

"Yeah, I guess…" Dean took a sip of his watered wine to collect his thoughts. "I guess in my head you were all just sort of one ev…" He cut himself off suddenly, embarrassed, and Castiel sighed.

"I'm sorry you lived with such misinformation for so long," Castiel said softly.

"Yeah, well," Dean shrugged awkwardly. "Not your fault." He stuffed the soaked piece of bread into his mouth and felt another surge of anger at his father. Shoving that aside he looked back to Castiel. "So what's your specialty?"

"Healing," he said, gesturing toward Dean, "and martial arts."

Dean choked on the bread. "Healing and _martial arts_?!" Dean asked, incredulous.

Castiel looked amused. "You don't have warriors in your village?"

Dean's jaw worked as he worked through his shock. "Yeah, but…" They weren't soft spoken like Castiel, didn't play nursemaid so kindly or gently. But then Cas _was_ also a healer. "How do those two things go together?"

"Life and death are two sides of the same coin," Castiel said. "And the fighting forms we study focus the mind, which is crucial in healing magic."

"Wow," Dean huffed, shaking his head. "Didn't really expect that."

Castiel's head tipped to the side. "Why not?"

"You're…" Dean gestured at him, remembering the syrupy warmth of Castiel's magic, how attentive he was to his needs, how carefully Castiel had wiped the tears from his face. "You're gentle," he said and immediately felt stupid.

Castiel just smiled ruefully. "You haven't seen me angry." Dean blinked at that, surprised. Castiel waved a hand toward Dean's meal. "Finish before it gets cold again. Then, if you like, I'll show you around Heaven."

At the thought of getting out of the room, Dean started shoveling food into his mouth, heedless of Castiel's wrinkled nose.

"How long have I been here?" Dean asked around a mouthful of bread and cheese.

Apparently unable to take looking at him anymore, Castiel rose and turned into the room. "This is your sixth day in Heaven."

Dean paused, the next bite of stew halfway to his mouth. "I was unconscious for three days?"

"Yes." Castiel had gone to the corner of the room where a large armoire stood and was clearly pulling things out, but Dean's view was blocked by his wings. "It ended up being for the better. The intensity of the healing was, at times, very great. I had three of my path-brethren helping me." He turned toward the bed and shook his head. "No human has ever been the focus of such intense healing. I'm not sure how your conscious mind would have handled it. As it was, we never had to find out. By the time you finally woke, the majority of the healing had been completed."

Dean remembered how the first time he'd awoken he couldn't see anything and there had been a female angel with him. "That's why I couldn't see when I first woke?"

Castiel was laying the clothing Dean had been wearing the night he'd gone through the gate on the bed. "Yes. The damage to your eyes was severe, but in comparison to everything else we had to attend to, it was minor. The magic had probably only begun to heal the rupture…"

Dean held up a hand, queasy at the word 'rupture.' "I don't need to hear any more."

"Of course," Castiel said, a slight smile on his lips. "Your clothing has been laundered. It is quite cold out today, so wear everything. I will wait for you in the hallway."

Eager to leave his room and see Heaven, Dean bolted the rest of his food and stripped off the clothes the angels had dressed him in. It felt good to put on his own clothing, like he was a whole person again and not an invalid, but he'd have to ask Castiel about getting a bath.

He slipped his feet into his boots and wondered where his sword was. He went back to the armoire where his clothes had been and saw the scabbard hanging from a hook, his sword safely within. He briefly considered putting it on but finally decided against it. If Castiel had meant him any harm, he'd had ample opportunity. He closed the armoire and went to meet Castiel in the hallway.

The angel gave him a once over as he let the curtain fall behind him, his eyes lingering around Dean's chest.

"What?" Dean asked.

"Checking your aura," Castiel said, looking up to meet Dean's eyes. "I don't want to overtax you."

Dean rolled his eyes. "I'm pretty sure I can handle a walk." Castiel cocked an eyebrow and Dean sighed. "Fine, fine, I'll take it easy."

The building they were in was larger than anything Dean had ever seen. They walked down two flights of stairs, the stairways themselves wide and finely wrought. There were tapestries hanging on the walls depicting domestic scenes or large gatherings mostly. All the hallways were lined with large windows protected, presumably, by the same magic as the windows in Dean's room, since he felt no cold draft. Between the windows were elaborate sconces wrought in a beautiful, gleaming metal that looked a little like pewter but that Dean didn't think was. Because it was day and there was sun streaming through the windows, they were all unlit. The floors were covered in plush carpet runners that covered nearly the entire width of the hallway. Everything screamed of opulent wealth, but as far as he knew, angels didn't deal with currency of any sort.

"So," Dean finally ventured, brushing his fingers over a tapestry. "Is this place furnished by magic?"

Castiel cast him a curious glance. "No. Though most of these tapestries were woven a very long time ago. But we have tradespeople here that craft what we need. Or we trade with your village." He paused. "You truly know nothing of how we live or interact with your people?"

Dean fidgeted because he didn't know what to do with his hands. "Not really. People didn't talk to me about you. Or if they did, I didn't listen." He chewed his lip for a moment as they went down another short flight of stairs. "My vision of this place was of angels doing nothing while whipping their human slaves into submission," he finally blurted.

Castiel stopped abruptly and turned toward Dean. He looked pissed and Dean wished he'd kept his mouth shut. "You really believed us to be that barbarous?"

"Yes. I… I believed my father."

Castiel's stony expression slowly softened. "The food and clothing in your satchel. That was for Sam." It wasn't a question, but Dean nodded anyway. "You expected to find him malnourished and lacking clothes for a journey." The thought seemed to cause Castiel actual grief. "Oh, Dean. For as long as Sam has been here you've thought him tortured and abased." He reached out and put his hand on Dean's arm, sorrow etched into every feature. "You are the one who's been tortured these last years, imagining what horrors your brother might be enduring. I'm so sorry, Dean. Had I know I would have…" he shook his head helplessly and trailed off, squeezing Dean's arm. "I'm so sorry."

Dean wanted to pull away from Castiel's grip, turn away from the pain in his face, but Dean was stupefied. For the last four years he'd felt like a failure because he'd let Sam be taken, hadn't figured out a way to get him back. His father had only reinforced the feeling, berating him whenever liquor loosened his tongue. When Dean had ventured to talk to Henry, his grandfather had been kind, but dismissive of Dean's turmoil, assuring him that Sam was fine. For the first time, someone knew the true extent and was acknowledging the pain he'd been in and he hadn't realized how desperately he'd wanted that. How he'd _needed_ it.

Part of him, an alarmingly large part, wanted to sit on the steps and cry. Wanted Castiel to sit beside him and offer him the comfort he so craved. But the part of him that had kept him going for the last four years locked his knees and forced him to meet Castiel's eyes.

"Yeah, but he's fine, so it's all good."

There was that telltale flicker of Castiel's eyes around Dean's head, shoulders, and chest, before he met his eyes again. Castiel's thumb rubbed over Dean's shoulder. "You don't have to hide your pain from me."

Dean pulled away from Castiel and turned his face away, feeling too vulnerable, unwilling to share his pain. That Castiel could see right through him was absolutely terrifying. Dean had learned to keep what he was feeling under wraps because no one had ever seen what he was he was feeling and accepted it. And though he wanted nothing more than for someone to _see_ him and simply support him, he couldn't make himself turn back to Castiel and his kind eyes and gentle touches. He couldn't trust that. Especially not from an angel.

"No," he said, a negation of everything. He wanted to say something else, something cocky, to hide the tumult going on inside him, but he didn't trust his voice right now. He felt as if he opened his mouth to say anything at all he might start screaming and never stop.

As the silence stretched out between them, Dean began to feel incredibly stupid. All he'd needed to do was shrug and smile and continue down the stairs, but instead he'd broken down and fallen apart, all because of one gentle touch and some kind words. Gods, he was truly pathetic.

He felt Castiel shift beside him. "The tapestry ahead was recently woven," he began tentatively. "My sister Anael spun and dyed the thread herself. She was very pleased with how it turned out, and so hung it in a place of prominence, despite my protests."

Dean took a deep breath to steady himself, immeasurably grateful that Castiel wasn't going to press Dean to talk, and looked at the tapestry. It was dark, shades of grey and green, a solitary angel kneeling in a clearing in the woods, head bowed, wings spread and sagging. He cleared his throat to make sure it was steady. "Is Anael the third angel of your trio?" He stepped closer to the tapestry. It really was beautiful if stark and sad.

"No," Castiel said from behind him. "She is a familial relation. The third of my trio is Hannah."

Dean hummed absently, still looking at the tapestry. Something Castiel said floated through his mind. "Why did you protest her hanging it here?"

"Because…" Castiel sighed. "Because it's me."

Dean turned back to him, but Castiel was looking at the floor. Dean wanted to ask what the tapestry was depicting, but it clearly wasn't a happy memory for him, and since he'd so graciously called attention to it to distract from Dean's own turmoil it only seemed right that Dean keep quiet. So he looked back at the tapestry and said, "Seems a little personal to hang in a hallway."

Castiel huffed a laugh at that. "Not to Anael," he said and then continued on. Dean followed him until they finally came to a large opening that led outside. Castiel stopped him with a hand on Dean's arm. "This doorway is protected by a permeable barrier spell. Normally, you would be able to just pass through it, but given your... precarious state, I'll remove the spell so we can pass through."

"You know, you could just have doors," he said with a chuckle and Castiel actually rolled his eyes.

"Doors would still allow in a great deal of cold air when they're opened. This way, we can keep all the cold air out. We're very far up the mountain. I'm not sure you're prepared for exactly how cold it is."

"Well," Dean said and tugged on his gloves. "Hit me."

" _Ol vinu od zacar elaza_ " Castiel said.

Dean was looking at the doorway, waiting to see something happen, some ripple in the magic, but there was nothing. One moment the room was warm and calm and the next a freezing wind tore in, blowing Dean's hood off his head and making his cape billow out behind him, stealing away all his warmth. He yelped, startled, and then the wind died down.

"I did warn you it was cold," Castiel said, obviously amused, and Dean scowled.

"You didn't tell me a blizzard was going to blow into the room!" He tugged his hood back up and yanked his cloak around him. It was _freezing!_

"That was surprising," Castiel admitted as they walked through the doorway. As Castiel reset the spell, Dean noticed that there were snowflakes caught in his dark hair. "Come." He tilted his head for Dean to follow.

Holding his cloak closed against the cold, Dean followed Castiel out onto a bridge and stopped. It was essentially the same view from the window of his room, but now that he was among the buildings, the spires were even more impressive, growing out of buildings of gleaming white stone, reaching to contrast sharply with the bright blue sky. And he could hear people's voices, now, the shrieks of children. It was grand and it was beautiful, but it was still just a village. Dean looked down and could see an open square with vendors and people buying the necessities of life. It could have been his own village.

"I was going to take you up to the garden, but would you like to see the market?" Castiel had come to stand at Dean's side, their shoulders brushing, looking down at the people below.

"No, I was just…" Realizing again how normal this place is, how you aren't anything like how I thought you were. "Just looking," he finished lamely. "The buildings are beautiful."

Castiel launched into an explanation of the stone and how it was mined as they started walking again, but Dean was only half listening. He was looking all around him, at the life bustling steadily. There were angels going to and fro and, Dean realized, they all didn't have the same robe and stole configuration that Castiel and Sam had. The fashion was as diverse as it was in his own village. He saw all the typical personalities, too. A woman annoyed that the bottom of her coat was being soiled by dirty, wet snow; a man, dressed more formally, irritated at a crowd that impeded his progress; a set of haggard parents besieged by two children who were clearly begging for something they wanted from one of the stalls. It was all so _normal_.

It was so normal, that if Dean wanted to, he could easily see himself in the crowd below, moving from stall to stall, keeping his head down, keeping apart. Isolated.

He sighed, feeling the sadness well up in him again, and turned his attention back to Castiel and Heaven. Castiel was guiding him with gentle touches to the elbow or back as they wove their way around buildings, over other bridges, and up more flights of stairs than Dean knew could exist. He was panting when they finally reached a wide open space that soared above the whole of Heaven. Castiel broke the magical barrier keeping the cold out of the space and closed it quickly behind them. 

Inside the enchantment was a garden of such stunning beauty that Dean could only look around, his mouth slightly open in wonder. The air was sweet and redolent with the scent of flowers and falling water. Where it touched his skin, the air was warm and humid and a very welcome change from the biting wind and cold just on the other side of the magical barrier. For a moment, his sadness lifted in the face of such beauty.

"This is my favorite place in all of Heaven," Castiel murmured quietly, putting his hand on Dean's back to get him moving. "There is a spot above the waterfall where you can see nearly all of the city and the valley below."

Dean let Castiel guide him, breathing in the fecund smell of the place. Even though he'd spent hours in the forest and meadows during all seasons at home, he'd never seen such a proliferation of flowers nor smelled anything so sweet. "This is amazing," he said and Castiel hummed his agreement.

They eventually reached a wide pool, fed by a waterfall that started beyond the barrier. It flowed unimpeded through it to cascade down a series of rocks and, finally, into the pool. Castiel led him up one side of the waterfall, scrambling over boulders until they stood at the top, the falling water misting their hair and clothes.

"My home," Castiel said, a soft smile on his lips as they took in the spectacular sight of Heaven arrayed below them. Then Castiel leaned in and pointed. Dean's eyes swept down to where Cas was pointing and his breath froze in his chest. "And yours."

It was tiny from this far away, but there, practically a world away, was his home. Dean took an involuntary step back, feeling slightly dizzy, and bumped into Castiel. Warm hands closed over his arms to steady him, but Dean hardly noticed. He was fascinated by the sight of his village, remote and silent, but for some reason, seeing it this way made him unspeakably sad.

His whole life had been spent there, in that tiny mote, and right now it felt like he'd _hidden_ there. Hidden from everything he didn't want to know, hidden himself from people who wanted to tell him the truth, hidden from his own instincts and sense. His entire life wasted hiding.

"I need to go home, Castiel. I need to…" I need to ask my father why. I need to mend my relationships with those who love me. I need to stop hiding. "I have to go home."

Castiel let his hands fall from Dean's arms, his fingertips dragging along their length before moving to Dean's side. Dean hadn't noticed Castiel's hands at first, but now that they were gone, he was acutely aware of of the warmth they'd left behind, of the trail Castiel's fingers had made. It felt intimate; more intimate than any touch Dean had ever had.

"I understand," Castiel said softly. He looked sad and Dean didn't understand why. "I believe that you will be well enough to traverse the gate in two or three days if we increase the intensity of your healing. That means I will need to enlist help."

Dean's brow creased. More angels touching him, more angelic magic mixing with his soul. His gaze shifted to Castiel standing silently beside him. His magic had been the only thing to save Dean's life. His magic and that of other angels Dean had never seen were the reason he was as healed as he was. There was no reason for him to mentally recoil from the thought of angels healing him further. He sighed. He was letting go of the lies. He wasn't going to hide from the truth.

"Yeah, okay. I've got to…" He took a deep breath. "I've been wrong about so much for so long. I have to, I don't know. I need to know _why_. I..." He knew he wasn't explaining himself properly, but there was so much going on inside his head and heart, so many emotions, so much turmoil.

There was mist caught in Castiel's eyelashes, haloed in his hair and wings, and in the warm, yellow light of the garden, he looked otherworldly. Dean wondered at how he had come here, ready to kill any angel who stood between him and Sam, had hated all of them blindly. Now he was standing with an angel he liked and was admiring how his wet eyelashes made his eyes seem very blue.

"I understand." Castiel's face was somber. "I will take you home, Dean."


	4. Chapter 4

Three days later, Dean stood with Castiel at the place the gate would manifest when called. Dean had been judged fully healed after sitting for several hours a day, letting an angel heal him. They had worked in shifts, three of them a day, about an hour each. Castiel had always taken one of those shifts. But beyond that, he came by every morning with Dean's breakfast and ate with him, talked with him.

When Dean wasn't trapped by an angel healing him, he liked to followed the path that Castiel had taken him and look in at the garden. He was still forbidden from using magic himself, so he couldn't get inside, but standing just outside, looking in at the verdant lushness, made him feel warm. Yesterday, Castiel had found Dean standing there, shivering, looking in.

"You should have come to find me," he'd said, creating an entrance for them. "And you missed your time with Muriel."

So Castiel had sat by the pool with Dean and performed his afternoon healing. Dean had closed his eyes and breathed in the warm, sweet smelling air and relaxed into the familiar feel of Castiel's magic.

What he hadn't done in the last three days was see Sam. He was still angry. And Sam obviously wasn't too keen on seeing him, either, because he hadn't reached out. Not that Dean was surprised. He'd spent four years forgetting to write to his family, no reason he'd start remembering now.

"You remember the charm to call should you need me?"

"Yeah, Cas," Dean huffed. Castiel had blinked at him the first time Dean had shortened his name and then smiled, shy but obviously pleased. Dean had used it almost exclusively since then.

Castiel nodded. "And you're sure…"

Dean shot him a look that shut him up. They'd talked about the fact that Dean was leaving without seeing Sam. Castiel thought he should at least say goodbye but Dean had refused. They'd compromised by Dean giving Castiel a message to pass on after Dean had gone.

"Then if you're ready…" Dean nodded and Castiel held out his hand.

"We… really?" They'd gone over this, too, but Dean still felt silly holding hands.

"We could embrace," Castiel said seriously, but Dean knew him well enough now to sense the undercurrent of humor and rolled his eyes.

"Fine," Dean said with an exaggerated sigh and slapped his hand into Castiel's.

Before the words of the incantation even started, Dean felt Castiel's magic around him. It felt different from every other angel who'd healed him, and Dean was certain that, even if he had his eyes closed, he'd be able to pick out the feel of Cas' magic. And now his magic was shielding him from the power of the gate. Dean could feel the same tug in the center of his chest he had when he'd summoned the gate himself, only this time it was gentle and caused no pain.

"I can still feel it," he said, mostly to himself, but Castiel paused, turning a surprised look on him. Then Dean felt Castiel's magic grow thicker around him and the sensation faded. He nodded. "It's gone."

Castiel resumed the incantation, and Dean was able to appreciate the beauty of the gate swirling to life. It looked like lightning trapped in a vortex, bright white throbbing between licks of deep purple and bright blue. It caused a slight vacuum, causing nearby plants to bend toward it, small debris on the ground to tumble through. Dean saw a squirrel start down a tree and then beat a hasty retreat.

When the incantation was finished Castiel looked at him. "Are you able to feel it at all?"

He had raised his voice slightly to be heard over the steady hum of the gate and Dean nodded, almost absently, and put a hand over his chest. "It's almost like when you stand too close to a big drum and you can feel the vibration inside you. I can feel its pulse."

"Dean," Castiel said sharply and Dean tore his eyes away from the gate, looked at Cas. "You are reaching out to it. You mustn't. Concentrate on containing your magic."

Dean frowned. He had no idea what that meant, no idea how to do it. Cas turned toward him and used his free hand to take Dean's from where it rested against his chest. When he looked into Castiel's eyes, the angel looked troubled.

"Focus on the feel of your hands in mine. Focus on where your feet meet the ground. Focus on the feel of your breath as it moves through your body. Feel your heart beat."

Dean gazed unblinking into Castiel's eyes and did all the things he'd asked him to do. He gasped slightly when he felt Castiel's magic intensify around him again.

"Feel your body in relation to the ground, in relation to my body," Castiel said and Dean felt a different sort of tug in his chest. "Close your eyes and focus on that, only that, and I will lead you through the gate."

Dean licked his lips, suddenly nervous, but spent a moment centering himself on all the sensations Castiel had requested. When he was ready, he nodded. "Okay."

Without letting go of either hand, Castiel stepped them sideways. The tug in his chest grew exponentially and he tried to squeeze Castiel's hands, but he couldn't feel them anymore. He couldn't feel anything, not the ground, not Castiel's body, not even his own. He felt a rushing panic and reached out. He didn't have arms, but he could still reach, and there was something rushing all around him, something tangible and enormous. It scared him, but it scared him less than this inability to feel his physical body, so he tried to grab hold.

Just as he was about to touch it, something squeezed tightly, all around him, preventing him from reaching out and grasping that tangible thing. He struggled, his panic rising. He was going to dissolve into nothing if he couldn't feel something real. He was going to be ripped apart and nothing of him would exist at all anymore. He was…

"Dean, Dean, take a breath."

As if waiting for the instruction, Dean took a heaving gasp of air and then another. He could feel his chest expanding, feel the cold air burning his throat. His knees were cold and aching and his arms were grasping a warm, solid weight. Castiel.

Dean tried to jerk back, but Castiel's grip around his back prevented it. They were kneeling on the frozen forest floor, though Dean had no memory of how that had happened. Just like he had no memory as to how he and Castiel had ended up with their arms around one another.

"Focus on your breath, your body," he realized Cas was saying over and over and so took another deep breath. Tremors he hadn't even been aware of started to subside. "That's good, Dean. Feel the weight of your body."

Dean closed his eyes and tried to do what Castiel asked. The gate was closed, but Dean could still feel the echo of its power, could still feel some part of himself reaching for it. So he leaned a little harder on Cas and concentrated on the firmness of his shoulders, the strength of his grip around his back, felt the heaviness of his own body supported by Cas'. Gradually, the sensation of the gate retreated completely and Castiel heaved a sigh, pulling Dean tighter against him for just a moment before releasing him.

"What the hell was that?" Dean asked shakily and Castiel shook his head.

"I wasn't expecting you to have so little control over your magic."

Dean scowled and looked at where the gate had been. "I just think that thing has it out for me."

"I told you, it has no sentience. But you reached for it, while we were traversing, your magic burst free from my containment. I thought… I thought…" Castiel scrubbed a hand over his face and Dean realized that Castiel was terrified. His cheeks were red with hectic color and his eyes were wide and shining. "I only barely stopped you from truly connecting with the gate's energy. If you had… I don't believe you could have survived another encounter like that." Movement caught his eye and Dean looked up to see Cas' wings sagging and trembling. He started to reach out a hand, to reassure Cas that he was alright, but the angel suddenly snapped, "How can you have such little control? Babes still in diapers have more!"

"How about you make a gate that doesn't try and grind humans to paste!" Dean shouted back. "You take _kids_ through here!"

"And I have never experienced _anything_ like that with any of them! Even the most fractious have had the ability to focus their magic within. Your lack of control is staggeringly reckless."

Dean made a disgusted sound and struggled to his feet. _Gods dammit_ , his legs were trembling again, but that didn't stop him from stalking several feet away from Castiel.

"I don't use magic. My whole life I've made it a point _not_ to use magic unless absolutely necessary. You _know_ that about me! Why the hell would you think I'd have any conscious control over it?"

Castiel looked like he was ramping up for another outburst, but then he suddenly deflated, spine curving, head bowed. "You could have died. You were so close to joining your energy to the gate's and it surely would have killed you this time. And I was your guardian, I was meant to keep you safe for the journey."

As abruptly as it had come, Dean's anger faded. "I feel fine. It didn't hurt me this time."

"I know." Castiel stood and brushed off his robe. "But you cannot travel back through the gate until you learn some control."

"What?" Dean snapped, dropping his satchel. "You said I could come back and see Sam whenever I wanted."

Castiel nodded, infuriatingly calm now. "And you may, when we can both rest assured that the trip won't kill you." He paused, that glint of humor appearing in his eyes. "It seems like a reasonable precaution. It took the spellcasters several days to repair the damage to the gate last time."

"You're not funny," Dean growled. For the umpteenth time, he wished that Sam could come down to the village, but he'd learned that that was impossible. When human students dedicated themselves to learning angelic magic, they underwent a rite that fundamentally changed their etheric physiology to such a degree that they couldn't traverse the gate, even with an angelic chaperone. "Fine. I'll learn magic."

Castiel _bowed_ in acknowledgment this time, and Dean knew he was being mocked. One thing he'd definitely learned during his time in Heaven was that Castiel was a sarcastic son of a bitch. "You honor me."

"I hate you," Dean said acerbically, grabbing his satchel from the ground.

Castiel straightened and arched an eyebrow. "I don't believe that is true."

Dean huffed. "Shows what you know." Silence fell then as Dean fidgeted with his bag. He was both loathe and eager to return home. He wanted to see his people again, people who were probably worried about him, but he really wasn't looking forward to all the crow he was going to have to eat. And returning meant he had to confront his father and the viper pit in his own head. "How long do you think it'll take before I can come back?"

"You should be able to gain the necessary control within a few months. I will administer an aptitude test to make sure you're ready, next time. I don't…" His eyes flickered with fear. "I don't want to experience anything like that again."

"Yeah," Dean agreed. Saying goodbye shouldn't be this difficult, but Castiel had been his constant companion while in Heaven and Dean was going to miss him. But he was also a little afraid that Cas wouldn't come back when he called. He knew he was being ridiculous, that it was likely he'd see Cas and Gabriel and Hannah simply because they came for a visit or because someone called them. But he had Sam back, too, sort of, and Castiel was his only connection to him. He was afraid to let that go.

"I can come visit you," Castiel said softly and then hastened to add, "To check on your progress."

It made Dean smile, that Cas might miss him, too. There was an undeniable connection between them, something Dean thought could grow into true friendship. As impossible and incredible as it seemed, Dean _wanted_ to be his friend, wanted to keep this angel in his life.

"That'd be good. It'll be nice to see a friendly face."

Castiel knew how strongly Dean had opposed the prevailing opinion of angels in his village. Knew that Dean had outright refused to engage with most people because they'd refused to be swayed to his way of thinking, and he knew that Dean was afraid of what his reception would be when he came back hat in hand.

"Those that love you and are worthy of your friendship will accept your change of heart. Those that feel the need to rub your face in it aren't worth your time or your affection," Castiel said with certainty and Dean laughed.

"Easy for you to say, but I have to live with them." He scrubbed his hands through his hair and sighed. "Guess I should probably head down." Cas opened his mouth but Dean shook his head. "You go back to Heaven, I'll be alright. I'll see you around, Cas."

"Yes, I'll… see you around, Dean."

Dean gave him one last smile and then turned around and started down the path, otherwise he had a feeling they'd stand there all day, coming up with other things to talk about. He listened for the hum of the gate coming to life as he walked but he didn't hear it. He wanted to look over his shoulder, see if Castiel was standing there, watching him until he was out of sight, but he didn't let himself. It was a stupid impulse anyway and he'd just be disappointed when Cas wasn't standing there. Instead, he focused on the path ahead of him, of what he'd say to people when he saw them. What he'd say to his father.

When he emerged from the forest onto the plain the his village sat on, he skirted around the edge, not ready to see anyone quite yet. He wondered if he should go see Benny first or maybe his grandfather, but decided he'd do neither. He wanted to see his father first. He wanted to know why he'd been lied to his whole life.

It was mid-afternoon, so he hoped he'd find John at home, but when he opened to door to their small cabin, it was empty. Dean stepped inside and hung his satchel on the hook, noticing that there was no fire at all in the hearth and that the cabin was frigid. A bag of acorn flour had been knocked over and spilled all over the floor. There were footprints crisscrossing through the mess. Food was scattered across the small counter space. The place was an utter mess and Dean felt the usual surge of irritation at his father's complete lack of care. If he wasn't here to keep things in order, his father simply couldn't be bothered. The anger he'd held at bay since he'd realized the depth of his father's deception came roaring back and he stood in the mess of their cabin, clenching his jaw and trying to calm himself down.

When he felt in control of himself again, he swept the ashes from the fireplace and laid out a new fire. As he was reaching for the flint and steel, he stopped. He knew the charm for creating a spark and he needed to gain more proficiency. He brushed the tips of his fingers over his thumb, suddenly nervous. He hadn't tried anything since the warming spell and his uncomfortable trip through the gate was still fresh on his mind. But Cas had said it was safe for him to use magic again and the only person who more carefully guarded Dean's safety than Dean himself was Cas. Actually, Cas was probably more concerned with Dean's safety than Dean generally was. The thought made him smile.

Steeling himself, he let his fingertips brush the kindling and murmured, " _Ialpon_." He jerked, startled, when a spark manifested and landed in the bits of dried wood and caught. There had been no pain, no unnerving tug in his chest, just the tingle of magic, unfamiliar but known. He breathed a sigh of relief and built the fire up until it was tight and hot at the back of the fireplace. It would at least begin to warm the cabin while he was out looking for his father.

Dean didn't bother to waste his time looking around the village. He knew the most likely place he'd find John Winchester and so headed directly there. The tavern's shutters were all closed against the cold of the day, so the interior was gloomy and it took a moment for Dean's eyes to adjust once he stepped inside.

It was after lunch, so the place was mostly deserted. A few old timers were sitting around, enjoying hot mugs of spiced wine and gossip. He'd just started further into the room when the barkeep caught his eye and pointed to a table in a darkened alcove. Dean started that way and saw his father half splayed across the table, an overturned tankard by his hand. Dean didn't want to know how his father had gotten the money to purchase so much drink, because his father was as drunk as Dean had ever seen him. Sadness warred with the anger he was feeling. What must his father have thought when Benny told him where he'd gone and then Dean hadn't come back for over a week? Had he believed Dean dead? Enslaved? Which made Dean wonder for the first time if his father actually believed his own lies.

He knelt by John's chair and put a hand on his shoulder, shaking him gently. "Dad. Dad, wake up." John muttered something and Dean shook him a little harder. "Wake up, dad. It's Dean. I'm home."

John's eyes fluttered open and slowly his bleary gaze fixed on Dean. "Dean's dead. Angels killed my whole family," he slurred.

"No, dad, I'm here. Get up, let me help you home." He struggled to get John to a seated position because his father wasn't helping, just staring at him. "Come on. Have you eaten anything today?"

"Dean?" John's voice was watery and shocked. Big, warm hands came up to cup Dean's face as John took in the sight of him. "Oh, my son, you're back."

All the anger Dean felt was washed away in the rush of love he felt for his father. He didn't know how long it had been since John had looked at him like that, like Dean was a son he loved and treasured, but Dean craved it.

"Yeah, dad, I'm back."

"My brave boy." He smiled, his thumb brushing Dean's cheek. "Your sword must be red with their blood. Where's Sam?" The words were like ice water, dousing all the warmth Dean felt. He pulled away from his father's touch and stood.

"I left him there. Where he wants to be."

John swayed as he looked up at him. He blinked. "You _what?_ "

"I left him in Heaven. I left him to his studies and his books. I left him in the place he's happy." Dean hadn't meant to shout, but by the time he was finished, he was. "I left him with the angels, who are nothing like what you insisted."

"How dare you," John said, rising from his seat. He was swaying and his eyes were bloodshot, but he was still a bear of a man and had an inch on Dean. And Dean knew exactly how hard he could hit when provoked.

But Dean's anger was back, hotter than before, and it burned away any thought he might have had about holding his tongue until they were home. "How dare I _what?_ How dare I learn the truth? How dare I name you the liar you are? Or how dare I return at all, when you never really wanted me here?"

Dean saw the backhand coming, which was the only reason it glanced his jaw rather than splitting his lip.

"You ungrateful brat," John spat. "I'm the only one around here who dares to tell the truth about what the angels are! I try to teach you, to make you see, but all you do is sulk and waste your time in the gods damned woods doing who knows what, never pulling your weight."

Dean could only stare at his father, utterly incredulous. "Never pulling my weight?" he echoed. "If it wasn't for me you would have no food, no clothes, no money to fuck away here. I do _everything_ for you and all you've ever done for me is feed me _lies_ , made me into a pariah along with you!" He was vaguely aware that everyone in the tavern was staring at them now, but he only had eyes for his father. "The angels don't steal children, they welcome the ones that want to go with them. And you want to know why we haven't heard from Sam? Because he was so ecstatic to get away from here, to get away from _you_ , that he forgot about us. He's spent the last four years happy…"

This punch Dean didn't see coming. He sprawled backwards, blood gushing from his nose, and collided with a table. John was still swaying on his feet, but his eyes were cold and clear. 

"If you can't see sense," he growled, "I've got no use for you."

"You've never had any use for me, except as someone to poison. You needed me because I was the only one who would listen to your lies. You needed me as a true believer of your delusion." Dean spat blood onto the floor at John's feet. "It's over, dad. You're not going to take anymore of my life from me. I'm not going to let you."

John exploded into motion, coming at Dean with fists clenched. Dean was sober and knew how John fought, but his father had weight and strength on him. As Dean tried to block his father's blows, he could hear the old timers shouting, and then the barkeep was there, trying to hold John back, but he kept coming. None of the blows Dean landed seemed to slow John down a bit and for the first time Dean felt a trickle of fear. John backed Dean into a wall and grabbed the edges of his cloak.

"You believe the lies if you want, boy, but if you do, you're no son of mine."

Dean bared his bloodstained teeth. "What has being your son ever gotten me?"

John's fists bunched tighter in Dean's cloak and he yanked him away from the wall.

"John! Let him go."

John shoved Dean back against the wall and turned to see Henry standing in the doorway of the tavern. Behind him, the boy who cleaned up after patrons was panting heavily, clearly having run to get Henry.

"You." John turned to face him. "You've been infecting my boy with your lies."

Henry shook his head. "I don't know what you're talking about, but you won't lay another hand on him."

"Fine." John looked back at Dean and sneered. "He's not worth a damn anyhow."

Henry stepped aside as John lumbered past him out of the tavern and then went to where Dean still sagged against the wall. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah." Dean was still staring after his father. He had felt devastated when he'd woken up in Heaven and realized his father had lied to him, but it was nothing to how he felt now. He'd always thought on some level that his father didn't really love him, that he saw Dean as a tool that was handy to have around, but John's words had cut deep. He didn't even see Dean as a tool. He saw him as a burden, as someone that he had to waste time and effort on. Dean felt as if he'd been cored out and stuffed full of cotton.

"Let me take you home, clean you up a little bit," Henry said softly and Dean didn't protest when his grandfather tugged him gently away from the wall. He didn't notice the old timers staring at him as they left, nor the small crowd of people that had gathered outside. He didn't hear any of the murmurs nor see Henry's quelling glare. All he could think about was his father's disdain for him, the words "he's not worth a damn" echoing over and over.

Henry got them into his cabin and sat Dean in a comfortable chair by the fireplace. He built it up until it was throwing out comforting warmth and put a pot of water on to heat. Dean didn't pay much attention to his bustling, didn't react when Henry wiped a warm, wet cloth over his face, cleaning up the blood that marred his lips and chin, over his bruised knuckles.

"What happened?"

Dean blinked and looked up at Henry finally. "I stopped believing him."

Henry sighed. "It's possible he won't even remember this tomorrow."

"I will," Dean said, his voice breaking, just as someone knocked.

Henry squeezed Dean's arm and got up to answer the door. Dean knew it was Benny befor the other man even spoke. The smell of freshly cut wood clung to him and when he knelt beside Dean's chair, the hair of his arms was coated in fine sawdust.

"Dean? Gods, you have no idea how glad I am that you're back." Dean could practically feel the weight of Benny's gaze and he wished fervently that he hadn't always held the other man at arm's length, because the sap and wood smell of him was so familiar that Dean wanted to let himself sink into it.

"Least someone is," he mumbled instead.

"Did the angels do this to you?" he asked, incredulous.

"No," Dean said just as Henry answered, "It was John."

"John?" Benny looked back and forth between them, nonplussed. "But… why…"

A blast of cold air blew into the cabin as the door was suddenly opened again.

"Castiel," Henry said. "Not that it's not good to see you, but…"

Dean looked up, surprised, and there was Castiel in Henry's cabin, eyes wide with concern. "Dean is hurt," he said, taking a step toward where Dean sat, but then seemed to remember his manners. "I'm sorry I barged in without knocking, Henry." His wings twitched slightly before drawing more tightly against his back."

"It's fine, Castiel, you're always welcome, it's just a surprise. Did someone call you?"

Castiel hesitated, looking back at Dean. "No, I…"

Suddenly it was too cramped in the room for Dean. All of them were looking at him with expressions of concern and affection and he felt too raw under it. "I'm fine," he snarled and saw the familiar arch of Castiel's eyebrow. "I'm fine, Cas. Just a few bumps."

"Dean," Castiel started. At the same time, Benny put his hand on Dean's arm and said, "What the hell happened?"

Dean threw Benny's hand off and stood abruptly. "Can everyone find another fucking charity case to worry over? I'm fine," he snapped and shoved past all three of them to barge out of the cabin.

He skirted the village, not wanting to see anyone and took a path into the woods that was nowhere near the gate to Heaven. He walked fast, trying to escape the memory Henry's and Benny's worried expressions and Castiel's knowing one, until finally he broke into a run. The effort kept his mind clear as he dodged patches of ice and snow and leapt over fallen trees. He wanted to escape. He wanted to run away from himself and everyone who knew him. The numbness he had felt immediately after his confrontation with John was fading and in its wake was burning humiliation. How many had witnessed their fight, heard what John had said?

When he finally stopped running his chest was heaving and his cheeks were wet with tears and numb with cold. He bent in half, resting his hands on his knees to get his wind back before he finally straightened to acknowledge where he'd come.

The cemetery was old. It had served his people since they had settled here hundreds of years ago and had grown organically. There were no organized rows or recognizable patterns. If there was room near one's family when someone passed, they were buried there, otherwise a new family section was started. Because Mary had died so young, she was buried near her parents and the brother they had lost when he was still an infant.

Dean didn't come here often. The memory of his mother was a warm but hazy place inside him. She had died eighteen years ago. Were it not for the small portrait of her Henry had commissioned and put into a locket, Dean didn't think he'd even be able to remember what she looked like. All of that seemed like a betrayal. He should be able to remember her smile, her eyes, spending time with her. So he just held onto that warm, hazy place inside himself and didn't come to the place that reminded him he'd failed his mother, too.

He sat beside her headstone and traced her name, still clear after so many years exposed to the elements. John himself had made this headstone, had made many that stood in the cemetery, his skill with stone making him highly sought after, but after he'd carved this stone, he traded away all his tools to another stoneworker in the village and used the money to drink away his pain. Dean had learned how to change Sam's diaper and feed him out of necessity, dragging him to Henry's or Ellen's when he didn't know what to do to make his baby brother stop crying. Dean had also begun learning his father's hatred for angels. His mother was gone and his father essentially was too. He was young and afraid and angry. And so very sad. He'd wanted someone to blame and his father had provided it.

Except now he was still young and afraid and angry, but the grief seemed to have grown beyond measure and he had nothing and no one to blame. John had planted the seeds in Dean but Dean had nurtured them. Dean had planted himself firmly on his father's side, putting Sam and his entire village on the other. Sam had weighed the evidence and come to his own conclusions about their father's beliefs, but Dean hadn't. If there was anyone he should blame, it was himself.

"What if it's too late to start over?" He stared at Mary's headstone. "Everyone here knows who I am, what I am. The foolish son of a fool and not even one his own father can abide anymore. What does that make me? The outcast of the outcast?"

Dean sat there, so lost in his thoughts that he didn't notice his shivering, didn't notice night falling until he heard the call of an owl. He looked around, blinking in surprise, and berated himself for sitting in the cold for so long. His fingers and toes were numb and his thoughts were sluggish. He needed a hot tea and an even hotter fire.

He struggled his way to his feet, all his joints cold and aching, and started back down to the village. When he broke from the treeline, though, he paused. He had been planning on going home to the cabin he shared with John, but he didn't know if he was welcome there. And even if he was, even if John was grudgingly willing to let him in the door, he didn't know if he could stand to stay there with him. He didn't know where he'd be welcomed right now.

 _Castiel would welcome you_ , a small voice whispered and for a moment all Dean wanted was to be back in Heaven. He wanted to sit and share a meal with Cas or wander the market with him or lean back against soft pillows and let the sweet warmth of his magic soothe away all the aches Dean was feeling.

He shook his head and started toward Henry's cabin instead. His grandfather would welcome him and Dean had vowed that he was done hiding. His life was here and despite his standing in the village he wanted to take his life back.

He knocked awkwardly when he reached the cabin and Henry opened the door with a wry smile. "You know you never have to knock, Dean."

"I wasn't sure since I stormed out earlier." He scanned the room quickly as he stepped in and removed his cloak. He was glad to see that both Benny and Cas were gone, but Henry still had a visitor. "Pam," he acknowledged with a smile and she smiled back.

"Hey sweetheart. Your grandaddy thought you might be in need of my services when you got back."

Dean sent an appreciative look Henry's way and went to sit down in front of the fire to try and regain feeling in his extremities. "I wouldn't say no if you had willow bark tea."

"Of course I do." She pulled her bag closer to her side and dug through it for a moment before tossing a tea bag to Henry. "Get that in some hot water," she said before she resumed digging. She pulled out several things and then shoved her bag aside. "I'm going to make you a tea that will help you sleep. I'm also going to give you a tincture that will help with the headache you will almost definitely have for the next couple of days. And here," she tossed him a jar of salve. "Rub that, gently, over your nose, lips, eye, knuckles, anything that's swollen or achy for the next several days." She went back to her assortment of bags and started mixing different herbs into several new tea bags. When she was done with that, she knee-walked to where Dean sat on the hearth and put them down. "One of these at night before you go to bed if you need a little nudge to help you fall asleep. Now, let me check on this mug of yours." She took his chin in her hand and turned his head this way and that, peering closely at his nose and the skin around his eye. When she prodded gently, Dean unintentionally flinched away with a hiss. She pursed her lips and hummed. "Pretty sure that's broken. I can use a simple charm to fix it, if you'll let me."

Pam knew that Dean had never liked magic but whenever he came to her for healing teas or other remedies she always tried to sell him on the faster, more reliable magical solution. He had always refused, but that had never deterred her. But she looked a little surprised when Dean nodded his head and told her to do it. She drew a completely unnecessary line down the center of his nose with her finger and then spoke a few Enochian words. Dean felt a strange quivering deep in his sinuses and turned his head to the side to sneeze. "Bless you," she said with a grin. "That's still going to be sore for a while, so make sure to use the salve."

"Thanks," he said and then promptly sneezed again. "How long is this going to tickle?"

"Shouldn't be too long." She patted his cheek and then turned to pack up her supplies. 

Henry came back from the kitchen with a plate of food and a mug of willow bark tea for Dean just as Pam was standing. "The patient doing all better?"

"He's on his way." She slung her bag over her shoulder. "Come get me if you need anything else," she said to Dean and he licked his lips nervously.

"There is something," he started, suddenly embarrassed. He had to do this if he ever wanted to see Sam, though. And he'd promised Cas. "I want to… to start learning the basic magic stuff that everyone knows."

Pam's eyebrows shot up but she was grinning. "Well, I never thought I'd live to see the day," she laughed. "I'm happy to teach you, Dean. And since I'm guessing you don't want to sit in class with the kids, why don't you come by my cabin when you're feeling better and ready to start."

"Yeah, I will. Thanks, Pam."

She chuckled and ruffled his hair before donning her cloak and leaving. Henry sat down in his chair and was silent for a while as Dean ate.

"I was afraid you might not come back," he said after a while.

"Where else do I have to go?" Dean asked and then immediately winced. "I wanted to come back here. I've decided that it's time to stop hiding from the world."

"You could have gone back to your cabin," Henry said and Dean laughed humorlessly.

"No, I couldn't. Even if I was welcome there, I don't think I could stand to be around him right now. Maybe someday, but not now." He shrugged and put aside his plate of food. "I want to have my own life, figure out things for myself. I've let John do all that for me for too long."

"You know there's no shame in being wrong." Henry's words were gentle and meant to comfort but Dean still felt stung.

"There's wrong and then there's _wrong_. I believed him blindly despite everyone telling me differently." He shook his head. "I'm going to have to find a place for myself here after keeping everyone out for so long. I don't think everyone will be too kindly about it."

"Probably not," Henry sighed. "But you do have people here who care for you already. And Castiel will give you anything that's within his power to give."

That startled Dean out of his gloom. "What?"

Henry smiled as if Dean's reaction pleased him greatly. "Castiel has been fascinated by you for some time." Dean just blinked and Henry continued. "I believe it started with stories Sam would tell him. And then he learned how John had brought you both up." Dean flushed at that, embarrassed. "And then one night, he asked if the young man skulking about outside was you. I looked and sure enough it was. He wondered why, if you followed them around every time they came down, you didn't want to come in and talk with them. I explained why, but he insisted I ask."

" _That's_ why you came out and called me that night?" Dean remembered the night in question. Sam had been gone for nearly a year and Dean was still seething and without a plan to get his brother back. When Henry had invited him in, he'd thought his grandfather had just noticed him and wanted to try and convince Dean again about the basic decency of angels. He had flounced off. "Cas wanted to talk?"

"Always," Henry said. "Every time he knew you'd followed them to my cabin he asked me to invite you in. After that first time, I declined and finally he stopped asking. But he frequently asks after you. Drives Hannah nuts," he chuckled.

Dean could only sit there and stare at his grandfather. Cas knew about him before they'd met in Heaven? Cas _asked_ about him? One part of Dean was weirded out, but another part, the part that had become attached to Cas, felt warmed.

"I guess that sort of explains some things," he said after a moment. Henry lifted his brows and Dean shrugged. "They knew my name. And Cas seemed… I don't know. Familiar with me, right from the start."

Henry nodded. "You've forged a friendship with him."

"Yeah, I think so," Dean said and laughed. "Can you believe it? I'm friends with an angel." He looked down at his lap for a moment. "Was he okay after I left? I know that crease between his eyes, he was worried."

"He was worried, yes. Wanted to go after you, but I convinced him to leave you alone. He asked me to tell you to not hesitate to call him if you need him."

Dean laughed again. "He fusses over me like a mother hen." At Henry's silence, Dean looked up. There was an odd look on his face. "What?"

Henry was silent a moment longer, his brows drawn down. He opened his mouth and took a breath as if he were going to say something, but then he closed it and shook his head. "It's nothing. But Castiel is a good person and I consider him a friend as well. If he fusses, it's for a reason."

"Or it's just because he's fussy." Dean smirked. "While I was still stuck in my sick bed, he liked to smooth down all the wrinkles in the blanket."

Henry laughed and they chatted a while longer. After some consideration, Dean steeped himself one of the teas to help him sleep and offered his grandfather some plain chamomile. By the time they were done with their tea, Dean was sleepy and warm. And despite the hard road ahead of him, he felt amazingly contented. He hadn't sat in front of a fire on a cold night with someone and just talked in… years, he realized. Since Sam had left.

"Grandpa," he said after Henry stood and announced he was going to bed. "When I was younger, you offered to take me as an apprentice." He paused but Henry remained silent. "I know I'm far too old to be an apprentice now, but would you… consider…"

Henry took the couple of steps to Dean's chair and put his hand on the crown of Dean's head before bending down and pressing a kiss to his forehead. "I would be happy to have such a talented student." His hand dropped to Dean's shoulder and squeezed. "Welcome back, Dean."


	5. Chapter 5

Dean threw open the door to Henry's workshop and wiped the sweat from his brow. Spring had given up a few weeks ago and had given way to summer, and now it was blazingly hot. He sifted through his growing vocabulary of Enochian and smiled.

" _Ozodonugonu_ ," he said and then grinned wider when a soft breeze blew over him, drying the sweat.

"You're getting good at that," Henry said, coming to stand beside him. "No one would know that six months ago you barely used magic at all."

Dean had kept his promise to Cas, going to Pam for lessons on magic. He'd been surprised at how easily it came to him, how quickly he picked up the Enochian. Pam had been surprised, too. Had even suggested that he'd be better off learning in Heaven. He'd laughed her off, but when Cas had finally come to test his proficiency, only a month after Dean had started studying, he was startled as well.

"You're extremely talented," he'd said as he put Dean through his paces. "You magic feels like the Wielder's path, same as Sam and Gabriel."

Dean had loosened his control on purpose after that, feeling uncomfortable with the praise. Castiel had noticed, of course, and arched a disapproving eyebrow at him but hadn't said anything more. Since then, every time he and Cas got together, they played with magic in ways Pam wasn't able to and soon, Dean had surpassed her abilities. He preferred studying with Cas anyway, liked the warm familiar feel of his magic mixing with Dean's own.

"Cas is a good teacher," Dean told Henry, now.

Henry smiled and sent a fond look his way. He was doing that more often, every time Dean mentioned Cas. Which apparently was pretty often. Dean had the feeling that Henry was onto him, knew that Dean's feelings for Cas were starting go beyond friendship. He'd tried to tone it down, not talk about Cas as much, but it was hard. They spent time together at least a couple of times a week, practicing magic or just being together, talking.

"Alright," Dean said, blushing. "That saddle's not going to finish itself."

Henry grinned and Dean scowled in response. He hated being so transparent. 

"You're going up in a few days, aren't you?" Henry asked as he followed Dean back into the workshop.

Dean knew that how much he went to Heaven and how much Castiel came to the village was a favorite topic of the gossip mill. Before Cas and him, no human had ever been to Heaven just to visit and no angel had ever come to their village unaccompanied by the rest of their _saanir_ , but now he and Cas visited each other several times a week. Some people shrugged it off and some people wanted to be friends with someone who so obviously had the favor of an angel. There were others who thought Dean was overstepping, who disapproved of his closeness with Castiel. It had made trying to build his life more difficult, but he wouldn't trade his friendship with Cas for anything.

"Yeah, Sam's got some sort of elevation ceremony." He shrugged and picked up his tools. "Cas was trying to explain it, but it sounds pretty boring. Can you help me with this? I can't get the leather smooth over this curve."

Henry came and showed Dean what he was doing wrong and they spent the rest of the day working in companionable silence. They were so caught up in their work that neither of them heard the knock on the open door of the workshop. What finally caught Dean's attention was the familiar feel of Castiel's magic brushing against his awareness. He smiled and brushed the magic away.

"You need to be more stealthy than that," he said, finally straightening up from where he was still leaning over the saddle. He winced and stretched his sore back.

"That was as stealthy as it's possible to be. Your sensitivity has gotten very good." Cas stepped into the workshop. "Good afternoon, Henry."

"Castiel." He went and gave the angel a welcoming hug. "Always a pleasure to see you. And you have excellent timing. I was just about to suggest we wrap it up for the day."

Dean wanted to groan and roll his eyes, but kept still. Henry was almost certainly not about to call it quits, but now that Cas was here he was contriving free time for Dean. He was as embarrassed as he was grateful.

Cas smiled and shifted his gaze to Dean. "That is a happy coincidence." Dean felt himself warm under that look and looked down at the floor. "I brought you more of Ezekiel's wine."

Dean looked back up and Castiel was once again focused on Henry, pulling a bottle from a sack Dean hadn't noticed. Henry lit up, taking the wine.

"Wonderful! Give Ezekiel my thanks." He shot Dean a smile and a wink and Dean wished the ground would open up and swallow him. "I think I'll go clean up and relax with a glass right now. Enjoy your afternoon, boys."

They watched Henry go, Dean blushing furiously. Castiel kindly didn't say anything about it, but he did move closer. "I have something for you, as well."

"Oh yeah?"

Cas hummed and tilted his head over his shoulder. "Let's go outside, though. It's very hot in here. I thought we could sit by the river, maybe swim."

Dunking himself in the cold river sounded like an excellent idea for several reasons. He cleared his throat and nodded. "Let me just lock up."

It didn't take long for Dean to put his tools away and lock the door of the workshop and then he and Castiel were walking through the village. It didn't take long before they were swarmed by kids, jumping up and down and begging for candies.

"I'm sorry, it's my brother who brings the candies," Cas said, looking regretful, but everyone knew he was lying. Since the first time he'd come alone and actually _had_ been without candies, he'd made a point to always bring some with him. The kids wailed and begged and Cas shrugged. "Dean, do you have any candy?"

Dean made a show of patting himself down and then shook his head. "Sorry guys, fresh out."

The histrionics grew more dramatic at that point, one boy actually falling to the ground and moaning, "Nooooo," making them both laugh. Dean could see Cas reaching for his pocket and put a hand on his arm.

"Wait, I want to try something." Cas nodded and Dean crouched down to be at eye level with the kids. "Do you know where candy comes from?" He got several answers shouted at him and he nodded. "All good answers, but the _best_ candy is made by magic." He cupped his hands together and closed his eyes. He'd never tried this before, but it seemed easy enough. He reached his senses toward Cas, the pocket that held the candy. He could sense it, feel the vibration of it, and wrapped his magic around it. Then he simply willed it into his hands. He felt it arrive, the wax paper scraping his skin, and opened his hands. The children all stood there with their mouths open, shocked at his conjuration. "Catch!" Dean said suddenly and tossed the candies into the air over their heads. That brought them out of their shock and made them start screeching again as they started grabbing for the candy. "Quick," he said to Cas, tugging on his arm to get him moving. "While they're distracted."

When they were free of the kids, Cas asked, "Have you been practicing that?"

"No, that was the first time I tried." They walked in silence for a while, but Dean could feel the unease rolling off Cas. "Did I do something wrong?"

"What?" Cas said, clearly startled out of some deep thinking. "No, not at all, just… magic like that is very advanced and takes a great deal of control. Some angels, even those on the wielder's path, never master it. And it's something very few of our human students can do."

"Oh." Dean rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. "It seemed…" He didn't want to say 'easy,' since Cas had just said that some angels couldn't even do it. He shrugged. "I've been, I don't know, feeling more things lately. Like, _really_ feeling them, sensing them. Their energies."

Since the weather had grown warmer, Cas had stopped wearing his heavy robes and stole and just wore his sleeveless tunic and pants. That was the only reason Dean saw the goosebumps raise on Cas' arms.

"What?"

"Dean, that's remarkable. No wonder you sensed me so easily today if you have this level of perception. Can you tell what I have in the sack?"

"Hang on," Dean said and stopped walking. "I can't do that and walk at the same time." He closed his eyes and tried to feel what Cas had in the bag. He could feel the things in there, but figuring out what they were was hard. "I think there's a bottle; I feel glass, I think. And there's… there are two other things that are the same, but I can't tell what they are." He opened his eyes and looked at Cas expectantly. "Am I close?"

"Yes, very. The two things that you can sense are something you've never encountered before. It's what I brought for you."

"What is it?" Cas had brought him presents a few times before and each time it gave Dean a happy little shiver.

"Let's wait until we get to the river and I can teach you how to sense it better."

That also gave Dean a happy shiver of anticipation. A lesson with Cas meant their magic would mingle and Dean would be able to feel the warmth of it for hours afterward. He sometimes wondered if Cas could sense him in the same way, could feel his magic lingering. He hoped so.

They finally reached the place in the river where it opened into a wide, surprisingly deep, pool. Dean rock hopped to the center where there was a large flat stone, perfect for lounging on. Cas waited until Dean had made it and then spread his wings and flew the short distance, landing lightly next to Dean, his wings still spread wide. Dean took a moment to admire the graceful arch of them, of how, in the sun, they were almost blindingly white. He desperately wanted to reach out and touch them, to see if they were as soft as they looked.

Cas' wings suddenly folded forward, toward Dean, and Castiel said, "You may." Dean's eyes snapped to Cas' face and Cas smiled. "It wasn't hard to tell what you were thinking. You may touch them if you want."

He was already reaching out a hand, but he felt compelled to ask, "Are you sure?"

Cas stepped closer and Dean's fingers brushed the feathers. "Yes."

"Wow," Dean breathed as he smoothed his fingers along the slick shaft of one of the enormous primaries. It was easily as long as Dean was tall and felt cool under his fingers. He combed his fingers between them, shocked at how thickly the feathers were layered over one another, at how soft and delicate they looked but how strong they must be to bear Cas' weight. He reached up further to run his fingers over the soft down covering the arch of bone and the wing quivered slightly under his hand. Dean looked back at Cas' face, wanting to make sure he wasn't hurting him, but Cas definitely didn't look like he was in pain. His eyes were closed, his head bowed slightly, his lips wet and parted. Dean stroked his fingers over the bone again and Cas licked his lips, the wing shivered again.

He suddenly had a powerful desire to use both of his hands, to find the joints and press his thumbs against them, to see if he could make Castiel's whole body shiver, draw a moan out of him. It took all of his willpower to drop his hand away, thought he couldn't help but brush his fingers through the feathers one last time as he did so, and take a step back.

"They're amazing," he said, his voice sounding rough to his own ears. "Thank you."

Castiel blinked his eyes open and for a moment there was such naked desire in his gaze that Dean's breath caught in his throat. Dean's body responded to that look, yearned for Cas to reach out and touch him, to fulfill the promise in his eyes, but Cas looked away and cleared his throat.

"You're welcome," he said, and drew his wings back and he took a few steps away from Dean. 

An awkward silence descended between them and Dean hated it. He wanted Cas close enough to feel his body heat again. Wanted Cas to look at him like Dean was the only thing in the world he wanted. Wanted to close the distance between them and kiss him, feel the shape of his body beneath his hands. Wanted Cas to teach him all the ways he could experience pleasure.

Frustrated and unbelievably turned on, he yanked his shirt off over his head. "I'm sweaty from working in the shop all day and you said you wanted to swim." He bent to unlace his boots. "And the sun will be setting soon. I'm jumping in."

Dean could feel Cas' gaze on him as he kicked off his boots, then, with a steadying breath, undid the laces of his pants and pushed them over his hips. He dared a look back at Cas and that look was in his eyes again as they roamed up and down Dean's body.

"Coming?" Dean asked, cheeky now that he felt in control again, and jumped into the pool. When he surfaced and looked back, Cas had taken off his tunic and was untying the fastening of his pants. Dean watched unashamedly as Cas let them fall.

They'd swum together before, seen each other naked before, but it had never been this charged. Dean had never made Cas shiver with pleasure from touching his wings and Cas had never looked at Dean with such want. And now that they had, everything was different.

Cas stood there for a long moment, letting Dean look his fill, and then jumped in. When he surfaced, he gave his wings a mighty flap, spraying Dean with water. Dean spluttered, wiping water out of his eyes.

"That was a dirty trick," he shouted and launched himself at Cas. They roughhoused until they were both panting with exertion and arousal. They had paused to catch their breath, one of Dean's wrists caught in Cas' hand, his other resting against Dean's ribs. Dean had his one free hand tangled in Cas' hair, mid yank.

"You always manage to pin me," Dean groused, acutely aware at how close they were, how little it would take to bring them into full, glorious contact. Hell, his legs were free. It would be the easiest thing in the world to wrap them around Cas' waist and pull him in, but he couldn't work up the courage.

"I'm a trained warrior," Cas said, his voice more full of gravel than usual and Dean's breath hitched.

 _Please, Cas_ , he prayed silently. _I'm too scared to make the move. Please._

Cas' thumb brushed over Dean's skin under the water and he shivered. Cas felt it because his grip on Dean's wrist tightened slightly and Dean was so close to finally getting up the courage to close the space between them, because he wanted Cas so much, but then Cas let him go and backed away.

"Come see what I brought for you." He turned and hoisted himself out of the water, giving Dean a glorious view of all the muscles in his back and shoulders flexing before he twisted to land on his butt. Dean closed his eyes, frustrated that he was too afraid to initiate anything. Because Cas clearly wanted him, too, but he also seemed content to wait for Dean to be truly ready. He was simultaneously grateful and annoyed.

Dean pulled himself up onto the rock next to Cas and turned to face him, crossing his legs. Cas pulled the sack over to him and reached in. "Since you already sensed this…" He pulled out a bottle filled with a soft pink liquid. Dean's eyes lit up.

"Is that violet water?"

Cas nodded. "The last bottle. Balthazar doesn't know I took it."

"Oh, you're the best." He was grinning as unfastened the lid. The carbonated liquid started to overflow and Dean put his mouth over it to catch it. He didn't think anything about it, but when he looked back up at Cas, his eyes were fixed on Dean's mouth. Dean smirked and pulled back, licking his lips more than strictly necessary. "Whoo, that's a strong batch."

He handed the bottle to Cas who took a swig, his eyebrows going up. "Very strong." He set the bottle aside and reached into the bag again, but didn't pull whatever it was inside out. "Close your eyes and hold out your hands." Dean rolled his eyes but then did as he was told. Cas put the object in his hands and then closed his hands over Dean's. "Concentrate on what's in your hands and let me guide you."

The warmth of Cas' magic tangled with Dean's own as Cas guided him in how to explore something new to him. It was hard to focus on the lesson, though. Dean kept getting caught up in the feel of Cas' magic, of his hands cupping Dean's.

"It's a fruit," Dean said finally, excited to have finally sussed out what Cas was showing him. 

"Very good. Open your eyes."

In Dean's hands lay a green fruit with a red blush. "Is this a mango?"

Cas nodded. "They finally came ripe. I've been checking them every day."

During one cold day in Heaven, Cas had lamented that he missed mangos during the long winter months. When he'd realized that Dean had never had a mango before, he'd waxed poetic about them for nearly an hour, explaining to Dean that even though the garden was kept warm all year round, the mango tree would only bear fruit during the summer.

"You've built this thing up a ton. It had better be as good as you say."

"It is." Cas took a knife out of his sack and started cutting the fruit, juice dripping down his hands and wrists and Dean took another swig of the violet water to distract himself. "Alright, here. Don't eat the skin."

Dean took the mango from Cas. It was still attached to the skin, but Cas had scored it into little cubes for him. Cas was watching him eagerly, waiting to see his reaction, so Dean scraped one of the cubes from the skin with his teeth.

"Oh," he said. "Oh wow."

Cas grinned at him. "You like it?"

"Yeah, this is amazing."

Cas' delight was palpable and Dean couldn't help but grin back, eagerly taking the second half of the mango when Cas offered it. He cut up a second one for himself and they chatted easily as they ate and drank the violet water. They paused to pull on their clothes at one point because they were dry and the sun was starting to sink below the treeline. Dean could feel Cas watching him as he got dressed and he was just drunk enough from the violet water to shoot him a grin and a wink. Cas flushed and turned away and Dean chuckled.

Finally, when it was fully dark and they had polished of the last of the liquor, they stumbled their way back to Henry's cabin. 

"Thanks for the mango," Dean said, swaying slightly on his feet.

"You're welcome. I'm glad you enjoyed it."

Dean stepped closer and hooked his fingers with Cas'. "You had juice dripping all down your hands."

"And you had it on your chin."

Dean hummed absently. "Cas," Dean breathed. "I want…"

"I know, Dean." He brushed his fingers down Dean's jaw and let his palm come to rest against the side of Dean's neck. "I want it to. And when you're ready, I will be happy to share my body with you."

Dean snorted. "I don't wanna share your body with you."

"No? You don't want to put your hands on me? To touch my wings again and make me shiver with want?"

"Cas," Dean moaned and swayed into him. Cas braced him by his shoulders and brushed a kiss against his cheek.

"Go inside and have pleasant dreams. And I'll see you in a couple of days for the elevation ceremony."

Dean searched Cas' face, trying to see if he could sweet talk Cas into at least a kiss, but he knew Cas' resolved look and this was it. He wasn't going to let anything happen tonight. "Sweet dreams, Cas."

Cas smiled. "Good night, Dean."

Dean went inside and stumbled to bed, his whole body feeling warm and heavy. He rewound their afternoon together, lingering over every touch and heated glance. When he finally took himself in hand, he imagined it was Castiel. He gasped and wondered what it would be like to have someone else touch him like this. What it would feel like to have Cas' body draped over him, his leg between Dean's, keeping his thighs spread so he could work his hand over Dean's cock. 

Dean turned his face into his pillow as he worked himself faster, trying to muffle the sounds he was making. He thought about what Cas might like, how he'd like to be touched. What would he sound like when he came. Would he shout Dean's name? That thought, of hearing his name in Castiel's voice gone dark and rough with arousal, sent him over the edge and he came all over his stomach, hips jerking, thighs quivering. He sighed, completely sated, using his shirt to wipe himself down quickly before rolling onto his belly and drifting off to sleep, still feeling tendrils of Cas' magic inside him.


	6. Chapter 6

"Dean!"

Dean turned at the sound of Sam's voice and grinned. "Look at you, all upgraded."

Sam was wearing light summer robes, but instead of his former light blue stole, he was wearing the same deep red that Cas did only Sam's was trimmed in the brown of the Wielder's path whereas Cas' was trimmed in the orange of the Protector's path. He fingered the symbol embroidered near the top and couldn't suppress his grin. "I'm still only a novice."

"Yeah, you'll earn the rest of those in no time," Dean said and punched Sam in the shoulder.

Sam just rolled his eyes. "It'll take the rest of my life to earn all the levels, if I'm even capable of it. Most people never earn them all."

Dean had heard the same thing from Cas, when he'd asked about the symbols one day. He had seven symbols embroidered on his stole, earned over eight years of study since his novice elevation ceremony. When Dean had pressed, Cas acknowledged that he had earned his more quickly than most and was unusually young when he'd been elevated to apprentice.

"Well, the way Cas talks about your skill, I think you've got a good shot." Sam beamed at the compliment and Dean pulled him into a hug on impulse. He was still so grateful to have his brother back. "I'm proud of you, Sam."

Sam hugged him more tightly. "I'm proud of you, too." At Dean's questioning look Sam looked around them. "Accepting all of this, standing up to dad. And I know it hasn't been too easy for you in the village."

"Gossiping with Cas about me, huh?" Dean said crossly and Sam had the good grace to look chagrined. 

"I ask about you, especially since he gets to visit you. He mentioned that dad's not doing too great."

Dean sighed. He definitely didn't want to talk about that right now. Or ever. If he could keep Sam in the dark forever about their father's recent turn for the worse, he would. He'd have to talk to Cas about keeping his trap shut, too. "Ah, you know dad. He gets his teeth in something and he rides it to the end." Truth was that Dean was incredibly worried about John, but John still wanted nothing to do with him. He still hadn't found out where his father was getting the Devil grass he'd started chewing, but when Dean found them he was going to fucking end them.

"I can still tell when you're lying to me, Dean."

"I'm not lying," Dean said, sounding as offended as possible and Sam leveled an impressively grown up version of the stank face he used to give Dean when he was a kid.

"Lying by omission, then."

"What do you want to know? Dad thinks I betrayed him and he's imploding like he always does. I try to look after him best I can but you know his lone wolf mentality. And I'm a traitor now, so…" Dean clamped his jaw shut, pressing his lips into a thin line. He'd said more than he'd wanted to. "You don't need to worry about him, alright?"

"And you don't have to take on all the responsibility yourself. I can't come down, but I can still help with charms or other magic. You don't have to do it alone."

Dean was saved from having to respond by the bell signalling the start of the next elevation ceremony ringing.

"I appreciate it, Sam. Grandpa is helping me, so…" He shrugged and decided to change the subject. "Have you seen Cas? I was looking for him earlier but I can't find him anywhere."

At that, Sam's whole face transformed from brotherly concern to seriously evil brotherly delight. "Oh."

"Oh, what? What's going on?" The bell tolled again, summoning everyone back to their seats and Dean scowled at Sam's outright glee. " _What?_ "

Sam just grinned. "I've gotta go sit with my class. Enjoy the show!"

"Sam!" Dean shouted, but his brother was gone, darting off between the milling crowd. If Sam was this overjoyed about what was coming up Dean knew it could mean nothing good for him. But he couldn't for the life of him imagine what it might be. Feeling slightly wary, Dean made his way back to his seat. The final bell sounded just as he and the last few stragglers were settling in.

Lining the sides of the presentation area were drummers. They began playing, setting up a complicated counterpoint that made Dean tap his fingers against his thighs. At the far end of the field twenty young angels marched out five abreast. They were all bare chested and wet with sweat already in the heat of the day and they all wore matching deep burnt orange and red pants that wrapped tightly around their calves and ballooned slightly around their thighs. As they marched toward the center of the field, they spread out, and as they did so, they spread their wings, arching them high in an aggressive pose. Dean noticed that the tips of all the feathers of their wings had been painted silver. The beat of the drummers changed as two older angels walked out. They flanked the younger angels and started shouting orders. The students who were being elevated started moving through their forms, all controlled power and grace. Dean was more enthralled than he thought he would be as the various classes came out and gave their demonstrations. About halfway through, Dean's heart skipped a beat. Or maybe a dozen. He definitely forgot how to breath.

Goddammit he was going to kill Sam.

Cas too. After he'd pinned him to the ground and wrung every last ounce of pleasure he could from him.

Cas was dressed the same as the rest of the angels of the Protector path, burnt orange pants and bared chest, wings tipped in gleaming silver. His wings were held in the same high, aggressive pose as all the angels before him, but he also carried a staff held in his left hand, pressed against the back of his arm and protruding over his shoulder. Every move was precise, no wasted effort and Dean thought he was fucking _gorgeous_.

Castiel stopped at the far end of the field and turned, twirling the staff he was holding in an impressive display before crouching into a defensive stance. The drummers changed their beat again and eight angels marched out, all looking proud and haughty as they surrounded Cas. Cas shouted something and his students circled him, spinning as they performed their forms. Occasionally, Cas would lash out, going after one of his students, and it was the student's job to repel him. At the end of the demonstration, Cas was breathing hard and gleaming with sweat. He shouted a few more orders at his students before they were done with their exposition and finally marched off the field.

Dean stood as soon as they were done, unable to wait to go and find Castiel. Dean finally found him after he'd dodged the disapproving looks of several angels. He clearly wasn't supposed to be back here, but no one was going to stop him.

"That was impressive," he said, when he finally found Cas. Cas was still breathing heavily, surrounded by his students who were clamoring for feedback. Cas answered all their questions as well as he could before crowding close to Dean.

"You enjoyed it?"

Dean threaded his fingers through Cas' sweaty hair. "Yeah. I enjoyed it a lot."

Cas tilted his head and ran his nose through the hair at Dean's temple. "The Scholar's path students' elevations are next." His fingers curled more tightly around Dean's hips. "Did you want to watch?"

"No," Dean breathed. "Hannah hates me already. If I miss this it won't be any big deal."

Cas chuckled. "She hardly hates you."

"Fine, I _frustrate_ her or whatever. I don't really care right now. I don't want to watch the next elevation ceremony."

"Nor do I," Cas practically growled. His hand ran up Dean's back possessively. "I have something I want to show you." Dean hummed his agreement, but Cas pulled back first. "Meet me in a half hour at the top the waterfall in the garden."

"Jesus, Cas," Dean complained but Cas' fingers over his lips silenced him. 

"Don't complain and do as I ask. I will make it worth it." Dean wanted to complain more, but Cas was being dragged away by his students. "Meet me in thirty minutes," he said before he was totally swept away.

Dean went immediately to the garden, despite the fact that Cas wouldn't be able to join him for another half an hour. He wandered the garden while he waited, plucking a few ripe berries off of the bushes and finally cutting up a mango for himself. He was still gnawing the flesh off the seed when he heard Cas' voice.

"Did you save me any?" Cas was wearing his summer robes and stole, now, but they were carelessly fastened.

Dean rubbed the back of his wrist across his mouth. "Yeah, I think I've got a little something for you."

Cas looked at Dean's sticky mouth and fingers and immediately turned to continue up the boulders lining the waterfall. "Come," he said and started to climb, not checking to see if Dean was following.

But of course Dean was following. He would go anywhere Castiel led, and further up into the mountains hardly seemed dangerous. Dean followed Cas for a while before they came to a natural plateau. The wind was whipping fiercely, but Cas stood serenely at a ledge.

When Dean grew close, he had a moment of vertigo. Cas was inches away from an edge that was a sheer drop to the valley below. Dean didn't even want to think about how high they were. Hesitantly, Dean stepped up beside Cas and swallowed his desire to vomit.

"There is another way down from the mountain," Cas said suddenly and Dean nodded absently. "I've taken it a few times, but overall, the gate is easier. Less exhilarating, but faster." Castiel shifted so he was behind Dean and put his hands on his shoulders. "The way fell out of popular use because it scared our young. It's a very long way down." Dean leaned back against Cas' body, hardly listening to his words.

"But angels can fly," he said and Cas rewarded him with a squeeze and a long drag of fingers down his arms. His fingers circled Dean's wrists and drew his arms out to the side.

"That's right. No need to fear falling if you can fly, right?"

"No," Dean breathed and gasped when Cas shifted to wrap his arms around Dean's waist.

"Do you trust me, Dean?"

Dean started to twist in Cas' grip, but Cas held him tight. "What?

"Do you trust me?"

He gripped Cas' hands where they crossed over his belly and nodded. "Yeah. Yeah I trust you."

Cas let go of him and stepped back. "Then jump."

Dean turned, incredulous. "Then _what_?"

"Jump, Dean. Trust me."

"Except, hooray, I end up a pancake when this all goes wrong."

"No." Cas actually looked pained. "I would never let you die. Dean, you are precious to me, I will keep you safe."

Dean looked back over his shoulder, at the valley floor so far below. "This is insane. Why am I even considering this?"

Cas turned Dean back to face him with a finger against his chin. "Because it will be _fun_." Cas was grinning, his eyes alight with mischief. The way the wind had tousled his hair and pulled his robe even worse askew made him look rakish and dangerous. He was the most beautiful thing Dean had ever seen.

"You'll catch me?"

Cas cupped his face with gentle hands. "Always."

"Okay." Dean turned and looked back out over the cliff. "This is insane," he said again and Cas pressed himself against his back.

"I will be with you."

"Fuck," Dean said, trying to psych himself up. Cas would jump right after him and catch him. He would be safe in Cas' arms, just like he was now. He was scared out of his mind, but he trusted Cas. "Alright, let go of me."

Cas squeezed him briefly and murmured, "I'll be right behind you," before letting go and stepping back.

Dean's heart was pounding in his chest, all his instincts screaming at him to back away from the ledge, not jump off it. But he was going to jump. Fuck, he really was going to do it.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, this is crazy, gods, Cas, don't let me die," he said all in a rush and then, ignoring the part of him that was screaming 'no,' jumped.

For a moment as he fell, he couldn't even register what was happening. It was like his brain had completely shut down, but then all at once the reality of his situation hit him. He was falling from an impossible height, the wind buffeting him as he watched the cliff wall blur past him. And though it seemed like he'd been falling forever, the ground still looked miles away, like he'd never hit it, no matter how long he fell. And then, alongside his terror, this crazy sort of _joy_ blossomed. His mind was telling him that he was going to die. That eventually the ground wouldn't be so far away and he'd be reduced to paste when he hit it. But his heart was telling him that above him, Cas had already jumped and was on his way to Dean right now, to catch him and keep him safe.

As if summoned by his belief, a shadow fell over him and he laughed, exhilaration making him giddy. "This is crazy!" he screamed, the rushing wind ripping the words from his mouth, and then suddenly Cas was there, arms wrapped tightly around Dean's chest. And then somehow, impossibly, they were falling even faster.

"Hang on," Cas said, and Dean felt the power of Cas' wings as he flapped them, driving them downward faster still.

"Shit, Cas!" He was terrified and elated and he never wanted this to end.

Cas did something to change their trajectory and for a moment, Dean thought he'd be ripped from Cas' arms, but his grip was strong and they were headed back up, Cas grunting with the effort. Dean looked around in amazement. He was _flying_.

"This is incredible!" he shouted and Cas gripped him more tightly and nuzzled the back of Dean's neck. Desire unlike anything he'd ever felt pulsed through him. He wanted Cas with every fibre of his being and when they finally got to the ground, Dean was going to show him just how ready he was.

They swooped and dove for a few more minutes, gradually getting closer to the ground. Dean could hear Cas panting with the exertion of keeping them both airborne, could feel his hot breath gusting over his neck.

"Don't tire yourself out too much," he said, running the tips of his fingers suggestively over Cas' arm and Cas chuckled.

"I think you underestimate my stamina." He spread his fingers wider apart and pulled Dean more tightly against him before diving toward the ground. Dean laughed at Cas' eagerness. "Landing with two is hard," he said a moment later. "Be ready."

Be ready for what, Dean wanted to ask, but then the ground that had seemed so far away was suddenly right there, rushing toward them. Dean tensed, wondering if 'be ready' meant 'we're going to crash,' but then Cas pulled them out of their steep descent and angled them so they would land on their feet. With a few powerful flaps, Cas slowed their descent, and when they were close to the ground his grip on Dean loosened. Getting the message, Dean braced himself, and when Cas let go he dropped the last few feet to the ground as Cas landed behind him.

"That was," he started and turned to look at Cas. He realized for the first time that Cas had left his robe on the mountain as was just wearing the pants. "Cas, fuck," he breathed and closed the distance between them.

He could feel Cas' muscles trembling with exhaustion as he drew him in for a kiss, and he smoothed his hands over Cas' shoulders and chest. Cas responded immediately, pulling Dean against him and deepening the kiss.

"So beautiful," he murmured as he trailed kisses over Dean's jaw and down his neck. "So brave." His hands slid up underneath Dean's shirt and Dean shuddered, bringing him up for another kiss.

"Going to share your body with me, Cas," he asked between kisses and Cas bent his head to bite Dean's neck.

"Not if you continue to mock me," he grumbled.

Dean gasped and tangled his fingers in Cas' hair. "I won't if you do that again." Cas made a possessive sound and bit Dean again before sucking the red mark. Dean shivered. "Gods that feels good."

He let his hands wander as Cas' mouth traced a hot, wet path over his skin, running his hands down his back and up the taut muscles of his waist. When his palms brushed over Cas' nipples, the angel hissed and bit him again.

Dean revelled in how amazing it felt to have Cas' body pressed against him, how his skin raised in goosebumps wherever Cas' fingers trailed, how every soft sound Dean drew from him drove his desire higher. And when Cas finally pulled him down and spread him out on the soft grass of the meadow, Dean could only close his eyes and drown in the pleasure Cas brought him. When Cas took Dean's hand and drew it down between them, wrapped both their hands around his erection, Dean learned that there was even greater satisfaction to be had in pleasing his partner.

He watched Cas' face as they stroked him, his breath taken away by how beautiful Cas was, at how perfect it felt to have Cas on top of him, breathing his name and words of adoration into his skin. Dean used his free hand to guide Cas' mouth to his, wanting to taste him as Cas shook apart above him. Cas groaned into the kiss and moved his hand from Dean's, bracing it against the ground so he could thrust into the channel of Dean's fist.

" _En olapireta_ ," he whispered against Dean's lips, his voice shaking with emotion. " _En congamphlgh. Dean, ila casarma Ol aziazor_."

"Cas," Dean breathed and Cas drew back slightly. Dean could see the fear in his eyes and his movements stilled. "Castiel," he said and drew his hand up Cas' shaft, watching his eyes flutter shut. " _Ila casarma Ol aziazor_. My angel, thou whom I love."

He took up his previous rhythm and Cas exhaled a shuddering breath. Dean held him close as he continued to stroke him, leaning up to pepper kisses over his shoulder and neck, until Cas finally came with a groan, adding to the mess on Dean's stomach.

"That was… That was really great," he said after a long while and felt Cas smile against the skin of his neck. He ran his hand up and down Dean's side and hummed his agreement.

"Your enochian has improved greatly." Cas sounded perfectly normal, but his face was still hidden against Dean's neck and his body was very still where it was pressed against Dean.

"Yeah," Dean said and reached up to stroke his fingers through Cas' hair. "Would you have told me what you said if I asked?"

Cas laughed and finally pushed himself up to his elbow so he could look at Dean. "Yes, probably. Eventually."

"Eventually, huh?" Cas looked embarrassed and Dean pulled him down for a kiss.

"I meant it," he said when he pulled back. "I was a little bit in love with you before I even met you. And then when I used my magic to tether your soul in place, it… it formed a profound bond between us. The magic has faded, but I can still feel you, the imprint of your soul within me, and my heart was lost to you forever."

Dean didn't know what to say to that, so he just rolled Cas onto his back and rested his head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat. He didn't know it was possible to feel like this about someone, like being without him would be like trying to be without air. What he felt for Cas felt enormous, like it could consume him whole, but it wasn't scary. It was warm and comforting and made him feel safe.

"I can still feel you, too. Like this little spark of something _other_ deep inside me. It gives me a little thrill every time I become aware of it."

"It is a unique occurrence; no one quite knows what repercussions there may be."

Dean turned his head so his chin rested on Cas' chest. "Repercussions?"

"The prevailing theory is that we somehow exchanged a small portion of our souls."

"What?" He pushed himself to sitting and glared down at Cas. "You didn't think this was information I might want to know?"

Cas shrugged, apparently unconcerned, and pulled Dean down to lay on him again. "There's nothing to be done about it. And even if there was a way to undo it, I don't know that I'd want to. I enjoy having something of you with me always."

"You're kind of sappy," Dean said, but hearing Cas say that made him feel warm inside. 

"Perhaps."

Dean traced spirals into Cas' skin with his fingers. "What about the repercussions?"

"Like I said, no one knows. Uriel, however, is very fond of making dire predictions of what might happen."

Dean had met Uriel a few times and got the distinct impression that he wasn't too fond of humans or Dean in particular. It wasn't surprising that he was spouting doom and gloom. "Like?"

"Foolishness. He's a Protector. Wrestling with possible outcomes is something far more suited to a Scholar."

"Uh huh. And what does Hannah think?"

"That I'm doomed to love you for the rest of my life and possibly feel the urge to tell terrible jokes."

"Hey." Dean slapped Cas' bare hip. "My jokes are hilarious."

"No, my love, they are not."

"That's a terrible thing to say to me. Take it back!"

Castiel refused to take it back, which led to a brief but fierce wrestling match. Dean tried to outmaneuver Cas, but, as always, it was impossible. He found the didn't mind so much when he ended up with Cas on top of him, his thighs parted around Cas' hips as they rutted together. Dean gasped and reached down to dig his fingers into the hard muscle of Cas' ass, encourage him to move faster, harder, something. But Cas took his time, and by the time they both came, Dean was a trembling, sated mess.

"Are you just really good at that or am I that easy?" He shuddered suddenly as Cas drug his tongue over the sensitive head of his cock as he lazily licked their spend off Dean's belly.

"I like to think I'm pretty good." He kissed his way up Dean's chest to his mouth so Dean could taste the mingled flavor of them. Dean moaned into the kiss and sucked his tongue until he finally pulled back. "Though I'd prefer if you refrained from comparing me to past lovers."

Cas meandered back down Dean's body, pausing to tease a nipple to a hard peak with his tongue. "That should be easy." He gasped when Cas nipped him with his teeth. "There aren't any."

"What?" Cas sat back on his heels and Dean felt cold without his warmth blanketing him. "You've never…" He blinked. "I was your first?"

Dean felt a sudden rush of insecurity, like maybe Cas wouldn't want him anymore, and looked away. "Yeah."

"Dean," Cas said softly and laid over him again, turning his head so he could catch Dean's eye. "That is a precious treasure and I'm honored that you decided to share it with me."

He kissed him gently, reverently, and Dean melted into him. They made out for a while longer, exchanging lingering touches that weren't meant to lead to anything, just the comfort and pleasure of learning each other's bodies. Dean could have remained there, laying under Cas all night, but eventually the chill of the evening forced them to get up. Cas rubbed his arms after he'd donned his pants and shivered.

"I shouldn't have left my robe up top."

"I don't think it was a terrible decision," Dean leered. 

Cas caught Dean's hand in his own and pressed a kiss to the back of it. "If only the heat in your gaze could warm me."

Dean couldn't help but laugh. "You say the corniest shit."

"I enjoy making you laugh."

They walked back toward the village, still holding hands, and Dean wondered what people would think. He knew there were stories, old stories mostly, of angels and humans falling in love, but there were no such couples in recent history. He figured mostly people wouldn't care or claim they saw it coming and the ones who already disliked how much time he spent with Cas would dislike this just that much more. But, he realized, he didn't care. Those people weren't important to him and Cas was. 

His father, however, would go ballistic if he ever found out. That was reason enough for Dean to keep this secret. That thought made him angry. He didn't want to keep this a secret, didn't want to hide Cas like he was ashamed of him. Fuck his dad. He'd vowed to stop hiding and had done so up to now. He wasn't about to stop.

"Your thoughts have taken a dark turn," Cas said beside him.

Dean squeezed his hand. "Just thinking that my father can go fuck himself."

"I imagine he would not approve of this relationship."

"That's just a little bit of an understatement. But what's he going to do?" Dean shrugged. "He already refuses to talk to me, ignores me when I come by to bring him food or supplies. The only time he'll talk to me is when he's drunk, and that's just to tell me how disgusted he is that I finally bought into the lie." Dean laughed, though there was no humor in it. "When I look back on it, it's so unbelievable that I believed his garbage for so long." He shook his head. "But I don't want to think about that." He dropped Cas' hand and turned to face him and loop his arms behind his head. "I want to think about you and how nice it is to kiss you."

"I'm happy to oblige you." They kissed until Cas slid one of his hands under Dean's shirt and made him yelp.

"Gods, your hands are cold," he exclaimed, trying to get away, but Cas just held on tighter and slipped his other hand onto Dean's back.

"As you may have noticed, I'm half naked," he said with an unrepentant grin.

"Gods, you're evil!" Dean finally managed to squirm away from him. "Let's go get you a shirt. One of mine will only be a little loose on you."

They picked up the pace to Henry's cabin and it wasn't until they were inside that Dean realized that they probably looked exactly like they'd spent the afternoon fucking. Henry was sitting by the fire, reading, and arched an eyebrow as he took in the sight of them. 

"Cas took me flying," he blurted and Henry nodded.

"Is that what the kids are calling it these days?"

Dean groaned and flushed bright red before leaving the room to find Cas a shirt. He dawdled as long as he could, the mortification of his grandfather knowing he'd had sex too much to bear, but eventually he had to go back out. Cas was sitting on the hearth, holding his hands toward the flame, chatting with Henry about the elevation ceremony and what Sam's life would be like now that he was a novice instead of a student. He gratefully accepted the shirt when Dean held it out.

"I guess I'll see you later?" Dean said awkwardly. Henry was politely pretending not to listen.

"There is a celebration the night of the elevation ceremonies. It usually goes on well into the evening." He reached for Dean's hand and Dean only blushed a little. "It would be nice if you joined me."

"Oh," he said and smiled. The thought of Cas leaving, of not seeing him for who knew how many days had made Dean's chest ache. If he could extend their time together even by a few hours, he'd take it. "Yeah, I'd love to."

Cas reached up and brushed his fingers over Dean's jaw. "Good."

"Ah, young love," Henry sighed from his chair and Dean groaned again.

"Gods, grandpa, can you not?"

"What?" he asked as he got up from his chair. "Two of my favorite people are clearly very happily wrapped up in each other. It does my old heart good. But since you're here, wait a moment. I have a gift for Sam."

Cas grinned as Henry left the room and Dean rolled his eyes. "I've never been more embarrassed in my entire life."

"He's happy for us," Cas said and leaned in for a kiss just as Henry shuffled back in.

He beamed at them as he handed over a small package for Sam. "It's those jelly candies he likes so much." Dean made a face and Henry nodded. "Now there's no need for you to open the package and snoop."

"I wouldn't!" Henry gave him a look that said he knew better and Dean huffed, mock offended. "Have a good night, grandpa."

"Not as good as you will, I wager," he said and Dean flushed bright red again.

"I'm leaving," he announced loudly and turned to leave just as Cas said, "I plan on making sure his night is excellent."

"Never again if you say one more word," he shouted over his shoulder and heard them both laugh. 

"Good night, Henry," Cas said hurried out after Dean.

"I'm going to kill you," Dean said and Cas wrapped an arm around his waist and planted an awkward kiss on his cheek, still laughing.

"I'm sorry, but you look so very charming when you blush."

Dean tried to scowl but now that the embarrassment was starting to wear off he felt the laughter bubbling up. "I can't believe my grandfather knows we had sex!"

That sent both of them off into peals of laughter and Dean reached out to take Cas' hand. He felt unbelievably happy.

When they made it back to Heaven, the party was still in full swing. The main hall of the Paths Guild building was festooned with paper garlands and candles held aloft by magic. There was a band of musicians at the far end of the hall and there were people dancing and generally making fools of themselves. Lining the walls were tables loaded with foods of all sort and Dean realized he was starving.

"I'm going to get food. Find Sam and give him his gross candies." He kissed Cas unthinkingly before turning toward the food. He'd only just started loading up his plate when Gabriel suddenly materialized at his side.

"Well that's an interesting development," he said with a grin and Dean looked down at his plate, confused, until he realized what Gabriel was talking about.

"Oh."

"Yes, _oh_. Balthazar is going to be so ticked!" Gabriel looked positively gleeful.

"Why's that?"

"He lost the bet. Was convinced it'd take you two way longer to get together. I was certain it would happen sooner. And it looks like I was right!" He plucked a piece of cheese off Dean's plate and popped it into his mouth. "So, thanks for banging my bro and getting me out of cataloging duties for a month!"

Dean gaped after him as Gabriel wandered off and then looked back down at his plate. He couldn't believe Gabe had a bet going with Balthazar. Actually, no, he really could. He wondered how many other people had silently laid odds on whether or when he and Cas would finally get together, both angel and human. He shook his head and continued to load up his plate. He was a little surprised at how remarkably sanguine he felt about everything, but being with Cas felt so good, so _right_ , that he couldn't bring himself to feel anxious.

Cas found him a while later, chatting with some of Sam's friends and lured him away with soft kisses and a look that held worlds of promises. They went to Cas' room and Cas took his time stripping Dean, kissing and sucking bruises into his skin. Dean could feel Cas savoring every moment, taking time like they hadn't when they were in the meadow. Cas brought Dean to the very edge of release again and again, never letting him fall into bliss. He guided Dean as he explored Cas' body with his mouth, finally getting his first taste of Cas' cock, the bitter fluid that was leaking from him. But Cas wouldn't let himself fall into oblivion, either, and pulled Dean away.

It seemed to stretch on forever, Cas worshipping every inch of him and finally, blessedly, working him open with tongue and fingers. Dean was unashamed in how he writhed and begged Cas for more, feeling Cas' pleasure when he did so. And when Dean was finally wet and open to Cas' satisfaction, he flipped them so Dean was on top, to allow him to control the depth and speed for his own comfort, and held himself in place so Dean could sink down onto him.

"Cas. Oh gods, Castiel," he moaned as he was filled. He reached for Cas' hands and twined their fingers together, holding on, the incredible pleasure of having Cas inside him drowning out the initial pain. He rocked his hips slowly at first and then faster as he grew more confident, felt the pleasure grow more intense.

Everything ceased to exist except for the sinuous movements of their bodies, Cas' choked cries of pleasure as Dean rode him. Dean wasn't even aware he was close to orgasm until it shook through him, making his body clamp down on Castiel inside him, driving his bliss even higher.

"Dean, my beautiful Dean," Cas said as he sat up and wrapped his arms around him, holding him as he thrust up, his wings spreading wide behind him. Dean wrapped his arms around the back of Cas' head and kissed him, riding the high of joy and ecstasy as Cas finally came inside him. Cas continued to hold him close, as if he was unwilling to let him go, his face pressed against Dean's chest. Dean laid his cheek on the top of Cas' head and was content to sit there as Cas grew soft inside him, listening to his harsh pants subside.

"Stay the night with me," he said finally, his voice soft and sad. Dean understood. The thought of leaving, of going to his own bed and spending the rest of the night alone was unbearable.

"Yes," he said and pressed a kiss into Cas' hair. "Yes."


	7. Chapter 7

Leaving Cas the next morning had been hard. They'd made love again, kissing and breathing each other's air as they'd stroked each other. Later, at the gate, Cas had held his hands and suggested he could come down that evening. Dean had eagerly agreed.

But as time wore on, saying goodbye got harder. Dean was addicted to falling asleep in Cas' arms, to waking up to his rumpled hair and sleepy blue eyes. He wanted Cas nearby so he could just drop in and talk to him if he wanted to, or steal a kiss. He wanted Cas _in_ his life, not _adjacent_ to it. When he'd talked to Henry about it, his grandfather's solution had been simple. Dean could move. Live in Heaven with Cas.

His heart had leapt at the suggestion because yes, that's what he wanted, had wanted even before he'd talked to Henry about it, but he squashed the excitement. That Cas would welcome him, would joyfully fold Dean into his life there was not in question. What stopped Dean from broaching the subject was the fact that part of him felt like it was taking the easy way out, running away from all his problems in the village.

Not that his life here was particularly difficult. Knowledge of his relationship with Cas had gotten more widespread and, as he'd suspected, most people didn't care. A few thought they were flying in the face of the natural order, but for the most part, it was a non-issue. The most difficult moment had been when Dean told Benny. He'd known that Benny had always hoped that something would grow between them, and he loved Benny, had always felt the potential there, but now that he knew how love _could_ feel, how his love for Castiel shined like the sun, he knew that what he'd felt for Benny hadn't even been remotely the same. He'd seen the disappointment in his eyes, the resignation. Benny had hugged him and kissed the corner of his mouth.

"He makes you happy. That's all I ever wanted for you."

And life went on. Except he didn't have Cas with him. Not in the way he really wanted. But he'd committed himself to sticking it out in the village, to claiming his life there, completely. Despite the sad looks Henry sometimes sent his way. Despite the fact that sometimes Dean went days without seeing Cas and that ached like a missing limb.

But Dean buried himself in his work. Under Henry's tutelage, his skill in leather crafting had grown and people were coming to him with commissions. He found it incredibly satisfying creating things that people needed and took great pleasure in delivering the finished product to them. Henry had even made noises about retiring, through Dean knew it was just that, noises. His grandfather could never sit idle, but he had enjoyed taking a little more time for himself as Dean took over more of the business. It was another reason Dean felt obligated to stay.

Still, one morning when they woke to a crisp, perfect fall morning, Henry had shooed Dean out of the workshop, telling him to spend the day with Cas. It hadn't taken too much convincing to send Dean down the path to the gate, mumbling the summons for Cas under his breath as he went. It only took a few minutes before the gate swirled to life and Cas stepped through. It didn't didn't take too many more minutes after that for them to stumble off the path together and for Cas to have Dean against a tree, holding him up with hands beneath his thighs, thrusting into him. Dean muffled his cries into Cas' neck, his fingers fisted in Cas' hair.

They spent the rest of the day alternating between checking Dean's traps and making out. Though Cas managed to fit a magic lesson in there, somewhere, making Dean come in his pants. Dean had gone back with him to Heaven that night, unable to say goodbye, though it had been just as hard the next morning.

Fall was finally fading back into winter when Dean packed a box of supplies for John. A new, thicker blanket, now that he could afford it, a new pair of boots, and some various and sundry other things. It was his monthly delivery. His father still refused to talk to him, but Dean couldn't abandon him completely. There were things he wasn't sure he would ever be able to forgive his father for, but he still loved him, still wanted to see him safe and cared for. If his father wouldn't acknowledge him, at least Dean felt he was doing everything he reasonably could.

"Dad," he called as he entered his old cabin. "Are you home?"

He put the box down on the table and sighed as he surveyed the mess. Since John had started chewing Devil grass, his strange tendency to keep certain objects had intensified. In every corner of the room were carefully arranged stacks of bones. Between them were piles of rocks and twigs. Pam had come over, tried to get John to accept the magical treatment that would help break his addiction to the grass, but John had refused. He'd even refused the medicinal teas that Pam had offered, screaming at her that she was trying to poison him. To her credit, she still came to treat him when he needed it, but she never came alone anymore.

Dean longed to clean the cabin of bones and pointless piles of rocks, but he knew from experience that it would only send his father into a rage. So he contented himself with taking out the birch stick broom and sweeping around the piles. He was making a mental note to bring a new broom next month because this one had lost an alarming number of bristles, when he heard a sound behind him.

"Dad? Are you…" He didn't get to finish his sentence because something hard hit him on the back of the head, right at the base of his skull. He didn't remember dropping the broom and falling to his knees. The next thing he was aware of was pain in his scalp where his father gripped his hair and his face leering down at him.

"Did you think I wouldn't find out?" his father hissed. His breath reeked of Devil grass.

Dean batted at John's hand, but he couldn't get his fingers to function properly. His fingers brushed his father's hand, but he couldn't get them to clamp down, to pry John's grip away. His vision was greying in and out.

"You have the stench of angels all over you. Are you letting them all use you like a whore? Or maybe you just belong to the one. Maybe he doesn't like to share. Maybe you spread your legs just for him." He jerked Dean's head hard to the side and Dean's vision greyed out again. "Doesn't fucking matter. They've infected you, Dean. You believe their lies. You're better off dead."

"Dad," he plead, his words slurring. "Lemme… lemme help…" Dean couldn't get his tongue to cooperate beyond that and his vision blacked out as his father hit him again.

"Shut up. _Shut up, Dean_." Dean was vaguely aware of John gathering him into his arms. "I didn't want this, son. I wanted you to get Sam back so we could be a family again. But instead you betrayed me." He rocked Dean back and forth and it made Dean's head spin, made him want to vomit. "I trusted you and you betrayed me. Dean, I love you so much. I love you, but you failed me."

Dean had just enough awareness left to twist out of John's grip and the cast iron pan that was meant for his head landed on his shoulder instead. Dean cried out in pain as he tried to scramble away from his father. He backed away, scuttling along the floor, half conscious and his shoulder shattered.

"Dad, please," he whimpered, but John stood, towering over him.

"This has to be, Dean." He adjusted his grip on the pan. "I'll make it as painless as possible. I promise."

Dean tried to make his body respond, but all his reactions were sluggish. He clawed at the floor, trying to get away, trying to remember the words that would bring Cas to him, but he couldn't recall them

 _Cas, I love you_ , he thought. _I love you so much. I'm sorry. I love you_.

John lifted the pan and Dean curled into himself, covering his head with his arms. He felt the pan hit him again, felt shattering pain as something broke. He screamed and curled in tighter on himself. The pan came down again and Dean felt something crunch in his neck, but there wasn't any pain. When he tried to move away, none of his limbs would respond.

"Gods, Dean, just _die_." It sounded like his father was sobbing, but that couldn't be right. "Please." The pan came down again, on his head this time, crushing the fingers that covered it. 

Dean tried to scream but all that came out was a whimper. He was going to die here, his deranged father beating him to death with a pan. His father hit him again and as his consciousness faded away, he thought of Cas, of the feel of his hands, the wet heat of his mouth, the gentleness of him wrapped in every touch.

He thought he must be hallucinating when he felt the tendrils of Cas' presence, but then he heard Cas' voice and felt a stir of hope.

" _Ag_ ," Cas said, a spell he'd used on Dean once, and John froze, the pan already descending again. "You will not hurt him anymore," Cas snarled as he grabbed John around his throat and drove him to the floor.

Dean watched in horror as Cas laid his hand over John's face and began to pulse _death_ into him.

"Cas," he wheezed. "Don't, please."

"Why not," Cas responded. "He has caused you nothing but pain. Had I not come now, he would have killed you." Cas leaned harder into his hand, pushing John's head harder against the floor.

"I love him," Dean managed and Cas looked at him, incredulous.

"He wants to kill you," he said, his fingers digging into John's face. "Why?"

"Cas, please" Dean whimpered, the pain of his battered body growing unbearable. He didn't remember Cas leaving John paralyzed on the floor, didn't remember Cas wrapping him in his magic and taking him back to Heaven. He didn't remember Sam's panicked screams. He only remembered the warmth of Cas' body and magic every time he swam toward consciousness.

When he finally blinked his eyes open weeks later, the first sound he heard was Sam's sigh. "I told them you were too stubborn to die."

Dean was too tired to respond, just pulled Sam toward him. There were things he wanted to ask, but the effort it took him to say them seemed too much, so he just held Sam close and slipped back into unconsciousness. Sometimes he would awake held in Cas' arms and Cas would shush him back to sleep, running his fingers through hair that had grown too long.

The first time Dean woke and was truly aware of his surroundings was in the dark of Castiel's room. Cas was wrapped around him, his arm around Dean's waist, knee between his thighs and head tucked beneath his chin. Dean took a moment to savor having Cas so close before running a hand down his arm to wake him.

Cas grumbled grouchily before realizing what was waking him. "Dean?" he questioned, his voice still heavy with sleep and Dean kissed his temple.

"Yeah."

All vestiges of sleep left Cas at the sound of Dean's voice. "You're really here," he said and kissed Dean before he could answer. "I never want to feel you so close to death again," Cas gasped as he drew Dean close. "I could feel you on the verge of slipping away and I couldn't call you back."

"What happened," Dean asked, unable to remember anything, and Cas told him. Told him how his father, deranged on Devil grass and enraged by the knowledge of Dean and Cas' relationship, had tried to kill him. How only the charm Cas had failed to remove from Dean's aura had alerted him to the danger Dean was in. How, even so, Dean had been hurt so badly that Cas hadn't been sure he'd be able to save him. Dean had been unconscious for over a month as they'd attempted to heal him.

"And dad," he asked.

Cas' expression grew dark. "He's ensorcelled in a long term holding cell. Opinion on whether or not he's culpable remains divided." Cas' sour expression left no room for doubt as to where he stood on the matter of John's guilt.

"He never would have done this to me if he weren't high on Devil weed," Dean said and Cas ran a thumb over Dean's brow.

"Yet the fact remains that he allowed himself to be ensnared by the drug and then nearly killed you." Dean wanted to argue that that wasn't how addiction worked, that there wasn't any _allowing_ involved, but he was so tired.

"Don't kill him, Cas. Please," he plead and Cas kiss his temple.

"Only because it's what you desire, my love. You should rest again," Cas said and he was asleep before he could thank him.

It was another month before he was well enough to maintain any sort of regular consciousness. Another month that John had been held in his ensorcelled cage. He had been free of the Devil weed since he'd attacked Dean, but even without the angels' magical enchantments he was still lost in his own mind. When he saw Dean it was as though he didn't know him at all.

"You look a little skinny, boy," he'd said, sounding so like the John that Dean remembered and loved that he broke out in goosebumps. "Mary will be home soon and I'm sure she'd be happy to give you a plate of supper."

"Yes, sir," Dean said, his voice quavering. "That sounds great."

Cas had taken him away after that, leaving John to his fantasy. "He won't suffer," he'd promised and Dean had just nodded, clinging to Cas.

It wasn't long after that that all of Dean's belongings migrated to Heaven. He worked in the tannery, putting his skills to use, but Cas continually pestered him to take the proficiency exam to enter the Guild.

"You would be an extraordinarily gifted Wielder," Cas murmured against Dean's ear as they drifted off to sleep.

It was Hannah, finally, who convinced Dean to take the test. She had laid out a passage of High Enochian before him and asked him to translate it. The symbols were unfamiliar to Dean, but when he'd touched them with his magic, their meaning had become clearer and he'd been able to organize them into something approaching sense. After she had looked at Dean's work, she crumpled the paper and thrust it against his chest.

"I have third year students who can't do that. Take the damn test."

So Dean finally did and qualified easily for entrance to the Guild. At his first proficiency exam, he qualified for his first embroidered symbol. He'd gone home to Cas absolutely stunned. Cas had only grinned and pulled him into bed. Six months later, he'd earned his second symbol.

"My star pupil," Cas had breathed as he'd sheathed himself inside Dean and Dean had laughed.

"I'm Gabriel's student." 

Cas thrust himself in hard, making Dean gasp. "Gabriel doesn't reinforce his lessons as I do."

Dean hummed and used the grip of his thighs around Cas' hips to grind up against him. "No, and thank all the gods for that."

Cas had laughed and bit Dean's neck.

Sam was deeply irritated that Dean had been elevated to novice and earned two more symbols to his stole within a year of joining the Paths Guild.

"Big brother superiority," Dean had assured him.

"I think it's because you're sleeping with the faculty," Sam groused, which had instigated an epic wrestling match. Dean let Sam win so he wouldn't feel too bad about everything else.

He still visited their father. John had been ensorcelled for over a year and was living a happy life inside the spell woven for him. Dean was able to insert himself and talk with him, but John never recognized him as his son. There was a Dean that existed in John's fantasy, a loving and devoted son who never strayed, and Dean never let on how much it gutted him that he hadn't been able to be that for his father. But at the same time, he was glad he'd broken free of his father's delusion. He was especially glad when he held Castiel in his arms.

And so life went on. It wasn't the life Dean had ever imagine for himself - loving an angel and wearing the robes of one on the Path - but he was happy. And when he laid down with Cas every night and woke with him every morning, he was happy. When they argued about division of duties, he was happy. When he struggled with his studies and Cas rubbed his shoulders, he was so very happy.

He was Dean Winchester, a Wielder of Heaven, and he was happy.


End file.
